A Snowman and a Burning Sky
by RazorSharpCastles
Summary: What if Elsa and Anna had been born during a time of war? Friends become pawns, magic becomes a weapon, and true love becomes a political asset, while at the heart of it all, a white-haired girl sits on a throne of ice and waits... Rated T for disturbing themes and some violence.
1. The Sky Awakens

"Elsa, Elsa!" cried little Anna as she clambered over her sister's bed. "Wake up!"

Behind her, the sky was bright with fire. There was a strange sound on the wind, like men and women and children and horses all screaming together.

"The sky's awake, so I'm awake," whined Anna, her voice tiny against the heavy baritone of a cannon being fired, "so we have to _play_!"

Elsa wiped her tears against her pillow, breathed in and out, and counted out three seconds before turning to face Anna.

"Aren't you afraid?"

This, she knew, was the only proper way for the Crown Princess to say "I'm afraid."

"No, silly!" Anna huffed. "The sky wakes up all the time. Why would I be afraid?"

"Because it's not the same," whispered Elsa. "This time the sky's a different kind of awake..."

Two doors down the hall, the Queen of Arendelle sat in darkness on a simple wooden chair opposite the King, and wept.

She had debated her husband with reason and logic. She had appealed to the love and compassion in his heart. She had cursed him; she had threatened to divorce him, take the children, and leave the kingdom to rot. She had pleaded with him, voice breaking with sobs. And now she had no strength left for anything but a quiet, stately weeping.

"She's our daughter," she was whispering. "She's just a little girl. She's going to be the queen..."

"There are thousands of little girls in Arendelle." The King's voice was stone. "Thousands of little girls come to hide behind these very gates, clinging to their mothers and crying as they wait for Weselton to break through. Can you imagine what the soldiers will do to them? No, stop crying, I really want you to imagine. The little girls who will be dead by morning will be the lucky ones."

"We can't save everybody. You know that. Frank, we can still get out, there's still time. We'll go into the mountains and wait for a ship that will take us to the Southern Isles. Please, Frank, let's take the girls and get out..."

"I will not leave my people." This time, the Queen could hear tears in the King's voice. "If nobody else will pay the price, then who can pay it but us? Solveig, what is the happiness of one little girl against the lives of a thousand?"

"Everything," said the Queen.

The silence hung thick and heavy in the air for a moment. Then the King scraped his chair back and closed the door behind him.

"Do the magic, do the magic!" shrieked Anna, bare feet scrabbling against the smooth wooden floor of the nursery. Elsa closed her eyes, counted out three seconds, and let it all out - a flurry of snowflakes exploded from the ceiling, dancing in swirls of bruise-blue and red light and gouts of that cold black wind which beats against the North Mountain even in summer. Anna started against the wind and began to slip back, and for a moment Elsa was afraid, and the wind howled and ice crystallised chaotically on the floor, but then Anna gave a shriek of delight and put her tongue out to taste the fresh snow, and Elsa felt cleansed. The fear and desperation and anger were gone, leaving behind only that faint sorrow of being so happy and then suddenly remembering one's mortality, and Elsa wanted to cry; to catch Anna and the world in frozen tears and keep them safe and shiny forever.

When the King opened the doors to the nursery, he found two little girls building a snowman to the song of crossbows.

"Hi, I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs!" mumbled Elsa, waving the snowman's stick arms about and making Anna giggle hysterically, "And fear not, my sweet princess Anna!" she added as an afterthought, "I'm so big and strong that I'll protect you from anyone!"

"Silly Olaf!" giggled Anna, gathering both Elsa and the snowman in her arms and almost succeeding in dislodging his head, "You know no-one will hurt us, right? Stupid old Weasel Town will go back home tomorrow like they always do. Right, Olaf?"

"Yes, Anna." Elsa realised too late that she had forgotten to mumble.

"Elsa! Anna!" the King's voice came dancing around the nursery in the clutches of the wind. Elsa wormed out of Anna's grip - the Crown Princess always came when called. Anna let the snowman go, more tentatively, leaving his head jutting out at an odd angle.

"Yes, Papa?" Elsa called through the wind.

The King was making his way towards her, boots sliding apart on the ice in a way that was decidedly un-royal. "Elsa, Anna," he repeated, "come here this instant! I need you for something very important."

Elsa took Anna's hand, who pulled back only slightly in protest, and slid across the ice towards her father, who caught both girls in a fierce embrace. Head pressed against his chest, Elsa could feel him breathing too deeply and too slowly, as though he had been running for miles and was now trying to hide his exhaustion.

"Is Weasel Town going away yet?" Anna wanted to know. "Mind you, I'm not scared. I know they will."

"It's Weselton, Anna," said the King as he shepherded the girls down the corridor. "Elsa, there's something special I need you to help me with. Anna, listen to me. I'm taking you to the library. Mama's there. You must promise me that no matter what happens, you'll stay with her. Promise me that you won't leave your room unless Mama tells you to. And if Mama tells you to go, promise me you'll do as she says, no matter what..."

"Go?" Anna stared with wide eyes at the King as he pushed her back through the doors of the library. "Why would we need to go?"

"Just in case. Anna, get off." She was clinging to his legs now, and clutching Elsa's hand. "Please get off. I have to go do something very important. Come, Elsa, we need to go."

"Elsa..." Anna's eyes were wide as saucers. "You mean Elsa won't be with me?"

The King knelt and kissed Anna on the top of her head. "No, Anna. I already told you, Elsa has also got something very important to do. We'll only be gone for a little while. You'll see us in the morning."

"Elsa!" The little girl's lip began to tremble. "I'm not staying here without Elsa!"

"Please, Anna..."

"Papa, I won't! I won't, I won't, I WON'T!"

"Anna, stop it _this instant_! Solveig, help me!"

Footsteps sounded from the corner of the room, and gentle arms closed around the hysterical little girl, pulling her through the door, holding her close, stroking her hair. Through a flood of tears, Anna screamed Elsa's name once more, but Elsa was already walking away with the King. As she turned to look back, Anna saw that terrible cold queenly resolve on her face, and a little bead of ice glinting in the corner of each blue eye. Then the Queen kicked the door shut, and in the darkness there was nothing left for Anna to do but to bury her head in her mother's chest and sob quietly.


	2. Walls

The view from the watchtower gripped Elsa's heart in a steel vice.

The walls of Castle Arendelle were burning. Cannons, catapults and battering rams gnawed at the white brickwork. A hot wind lifted Elsa's hair, bringing with it smells of smoke and gunpowder; singed flesh and the sweat of terrified horses. And on the walls, men were dying. She could see men wearing the crimson uniforms of Weselton, but it was her father's soldiers whose bodies littered the parapets; who made tiny painful movements like shot birds as they lay in a tangle at the foot of the walls. Elsa gasped and shrank away from the edge of the tower, but her father pushed her back.

"We will not last the night." The King's voice was hoarse with tears. "We've held Weselton back for a year, but this time, they will break through. There may still be time for you and I and Mama and Anna to escape, but the people in the castle, who came here from every corner of Arendelle, are doomed."

Elsa saw that at least half of the men rushing around in the courtyard were refugees. The women and children were sheltered on the lower levels of the castle. She could see old men and little boys, carrying supplies and ammunition, firing crossbows, charging with swords, dying. There was even a young man with blond hair and the garb of a northerner sitting astride a reindeer. He was dragging a cart filled with rubble towards one of the catapults, shouting instructions while the deer bellowed in confusion.

"No," Elsa whispered. She wanted to cover her eyes or turn away, but she was after all the Crown Princess. "No..."

"Elsa, this is what I need your help for," the King pushed her forward again. "Can't you see that you're the only one who can save us?"

For a moment, Elsa didn't understand. Riding towards certain death at the head of the King's army was something Crown Princes did, not Crown Princesses.

Then it dawned on her.

"You want me to use my powers to save the castle?"

"Yes, Elsa! You're the only one who can save us now!"

Fear twisted Elsa's insides. "But I don't know how! I've only ever used my powers for fun..."

"Just try!" the King's voice flared with hope. "Just think about keeping Weselton's men out of the city!"

Elsa closed her eyes and thought of the men dying on the walls. She thought of the women and children, shivering in the Grand Hall. She thought of Anna, building a snowman against a burning sky.

A flurry of snowflakes, so beautiful and so pathetic, spattered the castle grounds.

"Try again, Elsa!" There was urgency in the King's voice now. It broke into her concentration, along with the memory of Anna's laughing face as she tried to convince her that a talking pile of snow could protect her...

This time the wind blew, and the flurry rose higher, shining with blue and red just like it had in the nursery. One or two of the men in the courtyard looked up into the night with dead, desperate eyes.

"I can't!" whimpered Elsa, turning from the edge and pushing past her father to the stairway leading down. "Please Papa, let's just go. I can't save everybody, I just can't..."

But the King's fingers closed around her wrist and, handling her roughly for the first time in her life, he dragged her back to the edge of the tower. "Look!" his voice was shrill with panic. "I know you're just a little girl, but you're going to be the queen someday. Queens have to pay the price that no-one else can. These people are looking to us for help, but I can't help them anymore. You're the only one who can!"

"Please, Papa." Tears stung Elsa's eyes. "I can't do it. I just can't..."

There was a crash like the world ending. The gates of Castle Arendelle lay in splinters.

"Damn you, Elsa! Damn you! You've doomed them! You've doomed us all!"

Elsa screamed.

Every flame on the battlefield went out. Men and horses fell to their knees under the onslaught of the northern wind. The young man with the reindeer panicked, and the deer broke free from the cart and flew through the broken gate, disappearing into the night with its rider. A jagged sheet of ice, brilliant as daylight, burst from the ground in front of the gate, trapping soldiers, cracking a battering ram in half. The sheet of ice began to grow, stretching around the castle like a second wall, higher, higher, until it loomed above the tallest tower of the castle. Grapples and ladders clinked against it like falling coins.

Drunk with victory Elsa spun around, sending spikes of ice shooting out of the wall, impaling all those foolish enough to climb. It was the Weselton men's turn to scream as they hung embedded in the icy wall like insects in amber, tossed about with broken cannons and catapults. A few men had been impaled by the wall as it rose, and they hung at unnatural angles high above Elsa's head, their blood slowly staining the ice.

There was movement behind her. When she turned, she saw the King sitting up where the wind had thrown him to the floor, looking at her with something in her eyes that she had never seen before. There were footsteps on the stairway.

"You did well, Elsa," was all he said.

Elsa went downstairs with two of the castle guards supporting her father, and a third clutching her shoulder with a steel grip that was not befitting for someone escorting the Crown Princess.


	3. White Hair

The morning dawned winter-white upon Anna lying curled up in her mother's arms.

It was the silence that woke her up. No more fires lit up the sky. No more soldiers cried out. No more cannons thundered.

"Mama," Anna whispered. "Look, Mama. Weasel Town did go home after all."

The Queen's eyes were red and swollen, and two lines ran down her cheeks, etched by dried tears. Anna could see at once that she had not slept at all.

"Yes, Anna, they went home. Look outside."

Anna clambered off the settee on which she had been sleeping with the Queen, and ran to the window. The ice wall glittered like a thousand diamonds. In the courtyard, where the castle gates had once been, men chipped away at the ice with picks. A line of refugees had already gathered behind them.

"Elsa?" Anna wondered. "That's it, it was _Elsa_! Elsa saved us last night! Mama, Mama, Elsa _saved us all_!"

The Queen's tear-stained face cracked in a smile.

"Yes, Darling, Elsa saved us."

"But where's she now?" Anna was practically jumping around the settee. "Oh, I just can't _wait _to ask her how she did it! Do you think she'll show me, Mama?"

"Darling, come here. Elsa's going away for a while."

Anna stopped short. "Going away? But…but why?"

"Elsa was so very frightened after what happened last night. She needs to be in a safe place, where she can recover. If Weselton ever attacks us again, she'll come back. But for now, she just needs to rest…"

"Frightened?" Anna demanded. "She's going to be the _Queen_! Queens don't run away just because they're _frightened_!"

"Anna, you don't know what it was like." The Queen put her arms around her. "Elsa was out there, with Papa, with the soldiers, while you and I were safe here inside. She was so brave. A little girl shouldn't have to be that brave, even a princess." Her voice cracked, and for a moment Anna wondered since when it had become all right for Queens to cry. "Now let's go find Papa and give you a bath. You like warm baths, don't you?"

Anna had been bathed and dressed by servants ever since she'd been a baby. She wondered why the King and Queen had chosen that day to help her wash. Whatever it was, it made her feel terribly important.

"Anna, we've got a little something for you," the Queen said as the King took a small bottle filled with clear liquid out of a brown paper bag. "You could say it's a present – now, don't get excited, it's just a little thing. Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you to."

She obeyed, twitching her nose as she felt soapy water trickle down from a stray lock of wet hair. But then someone threw something pungent over her head, and she coughed and sputtered and struggled.

"Ewww, it _stinks_! This is the worst present ever!" she complained as the Queen thoroughly coated her hair in it, washed it off, then rubbed more of the disgusting stuff in and repeated the process. To the Queen's credit, it was over quickly. She wrapped Anna in her favourite green towel and carried her, gagging and rubbing her eyes, to the full-length mirror in the corner.

"Anna, what you will see now might surprise you." It was the King's turn to speak. "It might even scare you. But don't let it. Think of it as just a dress-up game."

The Queen pulled the towel down to Anna's shoulders, and Anna gasped.

"Mama, Papa, _what did you do to my hair_?!"

"Shhh, darling." The queen was running her fingers through Anna's hair, pulling and scratching like she did when searching for nits. The experiment had been successful – Anna's hair was white, snow-white, lily-white, to the roots.

"It's for the best, darling." The King knelt beside Anna, oblivious to the wet floor, and put his arm around her shoulders. "While Elsa's gone, you're going to have to play her part. You're going to wear Elsa's clothes, talk like her, walk like her, attend her lessons, play with her toys and eat her meals. The people of Arendelle need someone they can look up to while Elsa's gone. Haven't you ever wished you could be older than her, so that everyone could treat you like a queen?"

"I don't understand! I don't even _look _like Elsa! And I don't have powers…"

"None of the people of Arendelle have seen you close enough to know that. And powers don't matter for the time being." The King smiled. "Come on, Anna, I mean _Elsa_, it'll be fun. Think of it as a little game between the three of us. A little prank you can play on Elsa to pay her back by going away like that. You'll enjoy it. Trust me, by the time Elsa comes back, you won't want to go back to being Anna. Right, _Elsa_?"

Few things irritated Anna more than when grown-ups acted like she was stupid.

"This is a stupid game," she said. "I'm not Elsa. I'm Anna. I'm not playing."

The King's smile faltered.

"Listen, Anna. Elsa saved Arendelle last night. She saved you and me and your mother. Please, do this one little thing for her. Please let her rest knowing that there's someone as smart and brave as you in charge…"

"All right, all right," pouted Anna as the Queen began to dab the perfumed powder that grown-up women used to make themselves look paler and younger on her freckles. "I'll play your stupid game for Elsa. But only until she comes back. Then you _better _say sorry to her for me!"

There was much to be done in the courtyard of Castle Arendelle. Gates had to be excavated. Children and supplies had to be gathered together. The dead had to be mourned. Some of the braver men were scaling the ice wall with picks and ropes, trying to dislodge the frozen corpses and most often failing. It took the King and Queen of Arendelle some time to catch their attention from the castle balcony.

"People of Arendelle." A shudder passed through the crowd as they realised that the King and Queen were dressed all in black, and that the King's voice was hoarse with tears. "All of you present here have suffered at the hands of Weselton last night. Let us remember those who fought with the valour of ten armies for their wives and children; for our fair country of Arendelle! Let us remember the fallen!"

A cheer rose from the crowd. When the King speaks through the counting of the dead, there is nothing left to do but to weep or cheer, and cheering takes less precious energy.

"But the pain of loss has not passed me by either. Last night, Weselton agents infiltrated the castle. Their sole task was to assassinate me, my wife, and my daughters. They were overwhelmed... But not until they had taken the life of my youngest daughter, Princess Anna!"

A gasp rang through the courtyard. The King's voice trembled with rage. "Little Anna, seven years old, was cut down by a Weselton man while trying to flee the nursery where she and Elsa were hidden. It was murder; the cold-blooded murder of a child!

"But perhaps the murder of Anna served a purpose after all. Crown Princess Elsa, the child of prophecy, was so enraged that she overpowered the attackers and saved the castle. Good people of Arendelle, I present to you Princess Elsa, the ancient prophecy fulfilled, the Snow Queen!"

As the girl who was now Elsa walked out onto the balcony and gave a shy curtsy, some of the refugees and soldiers noticed amidst the cheers and applause that the Princess somehow seemed smaller; more childlike; less poised. And already explanations began to take form in their minds. Maybe the fatal powers she had used had weakened her. Maybe the trauma of her sister's death had caused some regression. In any case, all was well in Castle Arendelle, and already cheerful little Anna with her copper pigtails was fading out of sight amidst so many other deaths.

"I will go to man the garrison at Troll's Progress." The King's voice broke through the jubilation. "I myself shall wreak vengeance on the dogs that killed my daughter. I leave Queen Solveig and Princess Elsa to hold the castle."

After the little girl who was now Elsa had gone to her room, the King and Queen stood together on the balcony for a few moments. The King put his arm around his wife's shoulders, but she did not even look at him as she shrugged him off.

"Solveig, I need to go." His voice was gentle. "Do you want to say goodbye?"

The Queen stared at the men trapped in the wall; at the fine swirls of ice crystals covering their white faces. She stared at the curtains of blood seeping out of the men impaled on the top of the wall, staining the ice a delicate pink in the sunlight. She stared at their frozen screaming faces, and the harder she tried to link them to her child, the closer her mind came to breaking.

"Just take her," she snapped. "Take her far, far away from me."


	4. Strange Roads

Elsa thought she knew a lot about being the Crown Princess.

The fact that her father had ordered her to sleep in the servants' quarters proved that she did not.

Of course, the maids had done everything within their power to make her comfortable, draping the coarse dirty beds with fine sheets and chasing the spiders out of the corners before going to sleep in the kitchen. The King had left three guards stationed outside the door – stony-faced men who refused to let her leave when she begged to see Anna and the Queen. They answered her questions with brusque declarations of "We were not told, Your Highness," to the point where she began to feel as though the guards were there to keep her in, not to keep everyone else out.

In the morning, a maid brought her breakfast with silver plates and silver cutlery on two wooden trays patterned with crocuses. There were eggs (fried and boiled and poached), bacon and sausages, toast with butter and blackberry jam, a bowl of hot oats with stewed apples, a glass of milk, a sliced orange from the Southern Isles, and even a little box of chocolates in colourful wrappers. Elsa had never been asked to eat so much food by herself before.

"You've got to eat enough that you won't be hungry for the rest of the day, Princess," the maid explained. "You're going on a long journey with His Majesty."

"A journey?" Elsa was well and truly sick of the silent treatment. "Why was I the last to hear about this? I order you to tell me everything!"

The maid shook, stammered an apology, and fled the room. She returned about ten minutes later with the King. His face was drawn and his eyes baggy.

"Father." Elsa only called him that when she was being absolutely serious. "Tell me what's going on. The maid said something about a journey, and I don't understand... Please."

"Elsa." The King sat down beside her. "All over the world, people know about you and about the fulfilment of the ancient prophecy. At any moment, word will reach Weselton of how their armies were defeated. They will know that it was you. They will hunt you down. You cannot risk staying here until the war is over."

Elsa sighed. "That makes sense, I guess. But where would we go?"

"To the Southern Isles. There's a ship lying hidden in the fjord that will take us there. Weselton cannot follow us there. If they do, the Southern Isles have an army twice the size of Weselton's."

"Anna and Mama are coming too, right?"

"Yes, they've gone already. I had to stay to organise my men. We'll meet them at the ship.

"Will they be all right?"

The King smiled, but his eyes did not. "Of course. I sent some of my best men with them. Come on, finish your breakfast. We will only eat properly again this evening, if we're lucky. Your bags have already been packed."

In the end, Elsa ate everything but the poached eggs (too slimy) and the sausage (too greasy). She ate only one of the chocolates, wrapping the others in a silk handkerchief and hiding them in one of her coat pockets. Chocolates were hard to come by at sea.

It so happened that Elsa's re-evaluation of what it meant to be a princess was not over, because the next thing the King told her to do was to hide under a burlap sack in the baggage cart.

It was for her protection, he assured her, and anyway it was only until they were out of Castle Arendelle. Still, she felt thoroughly insulted as she knelt, hot and itchy, under the sacking. There was a crack through which she could look out, and she watched the castle getting smaller and smaller, until finally cold blue light swallowed her and spat her out on the other side of the ice wall.

An hour must have passed before the cart stopped and the King lifted Elsa out into the sunlight. They stood in a forest, hidden from sight by a copse of hazel bushes, and all around her Elsa could hear the movement of men and horses.

"We'll be leaving the baggage train here," explained the King as he led Elsa out of the bushes. "They will rejoin us later. We need to set a much faster pace."

Elsa stared. The little forest contained an entire cavalry regiment. Horses stood grazing amidst ferns and wildflowers while soldiers took their feet out of their stirrups and stretched their legs. A page-boy came trotting up with a horse draped in the King's regalia.

The King mounted his horse in one sure swing. "Help Princess Elsa up," he told the page.

"You don't have to. I can ride by myself."

"Not as fast as we need to go."

"What are all these men doing here anyway?" Elsa wondered as she tried to make herself comfortable. She had been half her current size the last time she had ridden double with her father. "Shouldn't they be protecting the castle?"

"Like I said, Weselton will be hunting you. If anything happens to you, Elsa..."

"Does that mean I'm more important than Castle Arendelle?"

"To me, you'll always be the most important thing in the world."

"That's not what you said last night," said Elsa.

The King fell silent. With her back to him, Elsa had no way of reading his expression, and she began to fear that she had made him angry. But all he did was signal to his men and spur his horse into a gallop.

By the time evening came, Elsa was sure that they had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

At first, they had ridden through meadows and birch forests, with the waters of the fjord always sparkling in the corner of Elsa's right eye. But somewhere around midday, gnarled old pines had begun to creep in among the birches. The late afternoon saw the arrival of jagged rocks with dirty old snow hiding in their cracks and crevices. And now, as the horses stood and foamed and their riders huddled together against the biting wind, snow began to fall.

"Father, we _can't _be going the right way!" she protested as the king stood and stared into the wind with his hands in a muff of ermine. "We left the fjord hours ago!"

"We are." He did not even look at her. "We're just taking a different route."

"A different route?! We're never going to get to the ship like this!" Elsa had already eaten one of her precious chocolates to keep warm. "Anna and Mama are waiting for us, Father! They'll think something terrible happened to us!"

"Elsa."The King turned to face her, and she was stunned by the pain written over his features. "I think it's time I talked to you about Anna. Walk with me."

They wound through the pines, with two guards ahead and two guards behind. The King held Elsa by the hand as though she was a baby, not the Crown Princess.

"Elsa, this morning, I lied to you. I pray with all my heart that you will forgive me, and that you will understand that it was the only way..."

Elsa nodded gravely. "That depends on the lie, Father."

"My little queen," he said, but he did not smile. "Elsa, there is no kind or gentle way for me to say this. Last night, while you and I were on the watchtower, two Weselton assassins crept into the castle. They were stopped before they could get to Mama, but Anna..."

Elsa stopped. Somewhere far, far away, she could hear the pines and the snow and the King and the Earth falling away at ten thousand miles an hour.

"You... you don't mean... you don't..."

Elsa hung in space, pierced by the black cold like an insect by a pin, while somewhere far below her a king knelt down to hug a white-haired girl.

"Anna is dead, Elsa."

The pines cracked like matchsticks.

* * *

It took a night and a day for the King and his guards to be able to take off the ermine muff they had bound around Elsa's hands so tightly that the rope left red weals on her wrists.

It took another day for her to be able to ride without being held upright, and another two days until she could be coaxed into eating all the chocolates she had saved - which tasted like ashes anyway.

And after six days had passed since the party left the crater where a pine forest had once stood (and where six men and four horses lay crushed by the cliffs of ice that had sprouted from the ground, but Elsa did not need to know that), she finally asked where they were going.

She had expected more lies and denials, but this time the King gave his answer immediately.

"To Weselton," he said. "To vengeance."


	5. Queens Together

Every day, after she had tucked the little girl who had once been Anna into bed, the Queen of Arendelle dreamed up excuse after excuse for why her sister was not coming back.

And every day, the little girl who had once been Anna stubbornly refused to ask.

* * *

"This mountain range is called the Fells," the King of Arendelle explained to Elsa. "It marks the border between Weselton and Arendelle. And this here," he swept his hand over the cannon-gnawed towers and walls of the fort, "is Troll's Progress. We'll be stationed here until the war is over. Hold the reins for a bit, I need to go speak to my men."

The King climbed off the horse, and Elsa looked around dutifully. Ever since she had learned about the Fells from her Geography tutor, she had dreamed of seeing them; of balancing like a tight-rope walker on that jagged line between snow and sky he had drawn on the blackboard. But now that she was there, she realised that there really was nothing special about them. They were just mountains, with flaky drifts of snow that made her think of dandruff and seemed to do their best to reflect what little sunlight there was right into her eyes. Perhaps Anna would have liked them – she had a gift for making the commonest things look like treasures.

But Anna was gone.

There were unfamiliar soldiers swarming around her father, churning the snow into grey-brown slush. Their faces were haggard and ruddy with cold, and their uniforms were nothing more than wet brown rags, destroyed by blood and dirt and melted snow. There was one with half his face wrapped in a bandage with a reddish-yellowish stain where his left eye was, and another who was missing two fingers and a thumb on both hands, while yet another had no right hand at all.

"...with respect, Your Majesty," one was growling, "but we're down to eating rats 'round here. Last horse went two days ago. Troll's Progress can't feed these new men, not unless there's half the supplies in Arendelle on the way."

"Supplies?" For the first time in a week, the King laughed. "You will have your supplies, but I brought a _weapon_. The most powerful weapon in the world."

By the time Elsa understood what was being said, every man in the courtyard was on his knees in the dirty snow.

* * *

"_Mama!_" the girl who had once been Anna wailed. "I _won't _let you put any more stuff in my hair!"

"Please, Elsa." The hem and sleeves of the Queen's dress were soaked, there were soap suds all over the floor, it was half past eight, and the ends and roots of the Princess' hair were still the wrong colour.

"Stop calling me that, Mama!"

"All right, _Anna._" The Queen cupped her hands and lifted them above the Princess' head, letting the water trickle through them. The little girl shrank away and crossed her arms on her chest.

"Come on, it's just water. I promise there's no stinky stuff this time..."

Anna relaxed a little, letting her mother run her hands through her hair. The Queen remembered how beautiful it had once been. Auburn, like the waves that had cascaded like beaten rose-gold down her own mother's back once. She remembered how, after she and her husband had taken their first child to the Valley of the Living Rock and the troll elder had told them just what the pale silent baby would become, she had been so disappointed about her daughter's hair. She had known how frivolous and downright stupid she was being, but she had nonetheless been so happy when her second daughter had been born with auburn fuzz... only now, those parts of it that were not white were no longer auburn. They were a dull watery brown, like moth-eaten fur.

The Queen almost wept as she reached for the bottle of dye.

"You _lied_! I just knew you'd lie!" Anna spun around, sending soapy water flying, and smacked the bottle out of her mother's hand. It shattered against the wall, spilling her sister's only protection all over the white tiles.

Queen Solveig slapped her.

For a moment Anna's mouth opened wide, as though she was going to scream. And then she put her wet little hand to her hair, grasped a handful of it, and pulled. She held out the bundle of white and brown split ends to her mother, and began to cry.

"It's falling out, Mama... It used to be so beautiful, but now it's all falling out..."

* * *

The village lay like a snowbound carpet at Elsa's feet.

As she stood on the hill with her father, her gaze swept over the clusters of wooden houses that were so similar to those in Arendelle; the church with its snow-capped steeple and dimly lit stained glass windows; the men and women scurrying through the streets with their hands in their armpits and their scarves over their noses; the gaggles of children throwing snowballs at each other.

"Father, are you _sure _there's soldiers hiding here?" she asked.

The King and his two guards were garbed as hunters or ice miners, while Elsa wore a boy's jacket and trousers with a cloth cap to cover her hair. The rough fabric itched and pinched her all over, but she understood that even though the village was only a few hours' ride from Troll's Progress, an encounter with anyone from Weselton could prove disastrous.

"I'm sure," said the King. "My sources don't make mistakes. Any of those houses could be full of soldiers. They say there's a whole regiment inside that church, waiting to march on Arendelle."

"Yes, but... destroy the whole village? Are you sure we can't warn the people somehow? Or lure the soldiers out?"

"How? Tell me how and I'll do it. The moment they smell danger, they'll scatter like rats in the sewers. This is war, Elsa!"

Elsa just stared at the children playing in the snow. She saw a woman walking briskly towards them, grabbing a little boy by the wrist and pulling him away from the others, pointing to the church and trying to explain something to him while he dug his heels into the snow and protested. The other children exchanged scared looks and scattered. They were terrified, she realised. They wanted those soldiers in their town about as much as anyone in Arendelle did.

"No, Papa." Elsa sat down helplessly in the snow. "I can't do it. Weren't you the one who always told me that a Queen must be willing to sacrifice everything for the innocent?"

"The _innocent_?!" The King grabbed Elsa's arm and jerked her to her feet. The protest froze in her throat as she saw his face. It was contorted with rage, but there was something even more frightening there too. A kind of deadly hunger; the look of a bandit watching a princess dressed in diamonds wandering through the woods in search of her way home...

"You care about innocent people? Was your sister not innocent? Do you think she did something to deserve dying like an animal? You never had to see her body, I made sure of it. But maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Did you know that they had to bury her in a shroud because half her face was gone?"

The roar of the avalanche was so loud, Elsa almost managed not to hear the villagers screaming.

* * *

"Anna, it's not nice to lie."

The Queen sighed as she pulled another of Elsa's dresses (folded as carefully as a little girl was capable of) out of the box. There were at least fifteen dresses in there, along with a smaller box filled with jewellery and trinkets, and a tangle of toys and shoes. The little girl who had once been Anna sat tight-lipped on the floor, her frizzy white locks falling over her eyes.

"You told me you have nothing to wear, so I went and ordered a whole batch of new dresses for you. When I asked what happened to all of Elsa's stuff, you said the maid took it away. Did you know that I was going to fire her for stealing? And now I find it hidden away in your closet. I want an explanation, madam!"

The little girl put her arms around Elsa's favourite doll, the one with the white braids. "I was just keeping it safe for her," she mumbled.

"You could've at least told me! And you know what Papa said. The people need to see you wearing these clothes."

"I don't _care _what the people want to see!" the little princess shouted. "And you're the one who's lying, Mama. I know you think Elsa's not coming back. I'm not stupid!" And, her eyes blazing with conviction, she added, "But she _is _coming back. Just you wait and see. I _know_!"

* * *

"My gift to you, Elsa," the King said as he swept his hand over the capital of Weselton.

_Weselton City. _As Elsa stood on the cliff and traced the concentric circles of the buildings and walls with her eyes, she remembered thinking what a stupid name that was and trying to impress her Geography teacher by making up fanciful alternative names, threatening to force the city to adopt them when she became Queen. Anna, still in diapers back then, had giggled hysterically from the corner of the room where she had been playing, and Elsa had not been able to understand what was so funny, and the angrier she became, the harder Anna had giggled...

"Go on," the King said almost gently, nudging her forward. "This is for you. For our family."

_Coat of arms: a white swan on gold._ For some reason Elsa heard the Geography tutor's voice in her head. _Was officially founded in 1168, as a fishing town. Relies on the fjord for travel and commerce. Is home to the Royal Family of Weselton, whose residence is the castle Swanstone. Population just under half a million..._

Who was innocent in that half a million, and who was guilty?

And then Elsa realised that in this mad torn-up world, there was room for only one "innocent" and one "guilty". Anna was innocent. And every living soul that had had even the slightest influence on her murder, from the king in his pretty white castle to the babies that howled when they heard cannon-fire at night, was guilty.

Sometimes, it was easy even for a Crown Princess.

_This is for Anna_, she told herself as the first defensive tower crumbled and the first squadron of soldiers cried out. _This is for my sister; for the little girl with the auburn pigtails who lies in the cold ground with her smile hacked in half. This is for all the snowmen I will never help her build. This is for all the years I'll be wishing "happy birthday" to a marble slab; for all the Christmases I'll be buying one less present for. This is for the wedding I'll never get to bless; for the nieces and nephews who will never be born. This is for dreams; this is for childhood; this is for innocence! _

The royal carriage flew out of the ruined gates just as a swarm of tiny ice needles ground the last white tower of Castle Swanstone into dust. The gilded wood was pockmarked and dented, one of the wheels was shaking on its axis, and the white horses' screams of fear were almost human. It would only take one well-placed ice spear to finish it all. Elsa let the needles she had sent into the eyes of soldiers and civilians alike dissipate, and prepared the spell that came easiest of all to her...

"Elsa, _stop_!" The King grabbed her wrist, directing the spell at a nearby tree, which split in two like a block of wood under an axe. "You must let the king go! If you kill him now, there will never be peace for as long as we live!"

For the first time in her life, Elsa wanted to hurt her father. She wanted to impale him on an ice spike like she had done to everyone she saw wearing a general's uniform; to make him bleed from a million pinpricks like she had done to a fat merchant while his servants ignored his screams and ran; to crush him with a cliff of ice as she had done to a fleeing family, not thinking them worthy of much energy expenditure... and then the madness passed and she sank to her knees in the snow just as the carriage rounded a bend and disappeared.

_Run_, she thought. _Run, you murdering bastard. Run over the mountains and over the sea if you want to. But remember that one day, my father will be gone, and I will remain. _

_And then I will hunt you to the end of the world._

* * *

Two months later, the king of Weselton knelt in the throne room of Castle Arendelle.

Behind him, every surviving nobleman and noblewoman of Weselton prostrated themselves, their foreheads pressed against the wooden floor. The queen knelt beside her husband, while the three-year-old princess buried her face between her mother's breasts and broke the silence with quiet sobs. The older princess and the prince knelt shoulder to shoulder, the princess staring at the floor dumbly with tears drying on her cheeks, and the prince's eyes wide with the shattering terror a proud son feels when he sees his father begging for mercy.

The little girl with frizzy white hair standing on the dais did not speak.

"Please, Your Highness," said the king of Weselton. "I know that there is nothing I or my family can do to make us worthy of your forgiveness. I ask only that you spare my wife and children. Please, Your Highness, show them mercy..."

"Mercy?" For the first time that morning, the little girl spoke. "I would make all of you suffer for a hundred years! But I recognise that peace for Arendelle is more important than my own revenge. So go now, Your Majesty, you and your family. But," her wide blue eyes glittered, "take up arms against Arendelle again, and then neither your children, nor their children or their children's children will ever know mercy. Take up arms again, and _there will be a reckoning_!"

And, as they stood and listened to their daughter speaking words that were not hers, the King of Arendelle cringed inwardly as he realised that she had stuttered on all the big words despite how long he had spent drilling her the evening before, while the Queen stood pale and silent and wondered just how any of it could ever be worth it.

But the kneeling men and women and children did not hear the stutter, nor could they have known the Queen's sorrow.

All they heard was the voice of a god.


	6. Puppetry

_7 Years Later_

Hans was sure that he liked plots more than people.

Of course, plots were created by people. But there was nothing wrong with liking blackberries more than thorny bramble bushes, or enjoying reading a book more than observing the daily existence of its author.

Besides, that was the only way to survive at court, among twelve older brothers who had long since melted into a series of obstacles to the throne and a father to whom the history books would surely refer to as the Madman of the Isles or something equally melodramatic. Puppets and shadow plays and plots and intrigues; a sprawling kingdom held together by nothing but the spider threads of an old man's decaying mind while thousands of little spiderlings rushed to repair them. Hans' childhood fantasies of doing something so drastic and stupid that the universe itself would stumble and drop him onto the throne, had long since abandoned him. But he knew how to gaze in wide-eyed wonder and pretend that the shadow puppets were real dancers, and when the curtain fell, he knew how to find his way into every dark room where the puppeteers sat and drank and plotted. It was the only victory he could hold against his brothers – spiting them with his understanding.

But even Hans could not quite bring himself to understand what the king was now telling him.

"With respect, Father, there are kings and emperors among Princess Elsa's suitors." False modesty was not the most reliable card to play against the King of the Southern Isles, but when it worked, the results were quite pleasing. "Why would she accept the hand of a mere thirteenth son?"

The king's lips curled in a smile that was almost fatherly. "Oh, Hans. Poor little Hans. You don't really believe that, do you? But I will not deny that you may need to force her hand..."

"Pardon me, Father, but 'force her hand'?"

Hans hated how the king laughed. It was the laugh of an old lecher sitting in a tavern, beer dribbling into his beard and a serving wench in his lap.

"Come now, little Hans, we both know that wide-eyed innocence doesn't suit you!"

"Father, are you saying that I should-" The word would not leave Hans' lips.

"Kidnap her? Blackmail her? _Rape _her?" The king's entire massive weight shook as he laughed. "You haven't quite convinced me that you're a bigger fool than your brothers, but you damn well are trying!"

The insult stung, even though by now it shouldn't have.

"No, what I meant is that you must present yourself to her as a handsome stranger, not a suitor. Smile at her, beguile her, catch her when she slips on her own ice or whatever damn thing it is that she does. Lead her to commit a little indiscretion with you. Leave a little something of yours growing in that cold belly. You know how girls her age are, they can't keep their paws off pretty things that catch their eye. And you know what fools who think they're so clever say - the taller they stand the harder they fall, was it? Kings and emperors won't cross the world for a fallen woman. Poor wretched princess Elsa might look at a thirteenth son differently then!"

Hans took it all in, then nodded with careful deliberation, his face an unreadable mask.

"I understand, Father."

"There's a good boy! Not one word about honour or chivalry, I like that." The king gave another greasy almost-fatherly smile. "You know, Hans, every day I see more of myself in you. You aren't some kind of walking fairytale. You're real. You understand that honour's a piece of shit."

"I aim to please you, Father." Hans had learned that the king was at his most volatile just after giving a compliment, so he counted out two seconds before continuing. "I still don't understand one thing though. I have twelve brothers. Why did you choose me for this?"

"Why the hell not? You have a pretty face, you seem to have a working cock, and every once in a while if we're very lucky you actually say something intelligent. Are you waiting for me to tell you a pretty tale of how I always preferred you to your brothers and give you half my kingdom while I'm at it? If that's what you want, then get out. I have twelve other sons to waste my time with."

"No, Father, I – I meant no offence. You honour me with this task and I swear to complete it. I should never have spoken."

The king snorted. "Damn right you shouldn't have. Now go and find a way to amuse yourself while I decide whether or not you're big enough to have your own ship."

"Yes, Father. You have my humblest thanks."

_My own ship? _thought Hans as he left the throne room. _This is far too promising. _Even that ruthless wolfhound of a man Alfonse, the king's third son and quite obviously his favourite, had only received his own ship at nineteen.

A ship; a throne; a powerful sorceress as a queen; a kingdom that was not much more than rocks and snow but was still a kingdom, all given freely to a thirteenth son... There had to be a trap somewhere. Hans believed in luck about as much as his father believed in honour and basic human decency.

Ah, but of course.

Princess Elsa was the most powerful weapon in the known world. Seven years ago, she had built the Wall of Life that still stood around Castle Arendelle. They said that the blood of her enemies ran through it, and that it cast the most beautiful patterns upon the castle when it caught the sunlight. On that same night, Weselton agents had killed her sister. Two weeks later, the capital of Weselton had lain in ruins, split apart by spears of ice three hundred feet high. There was not a village that had not been buried under an avalanche; not a tree that had not been snapped by the screaming winds. It was a wonder that Weselton had held out for almost two months before yielding; before the king himself had knelt at Princess Elsa's feet and begged for forgiveness.

She had done all this without so much as leaving the castle.

Hans could see that she would not take kindly to being wrangled into marrying him.

Was it possible for such a complex and dangerous plot to exist for the sole purpose of getting rid of a useless thirteenth heir?

Of course not, Hans thought bitterly. Naturally, after his frozen corpse had joined those decorating the Wall of Life, his father would wash his hands of all responsibility. Perhaps he would say some heartfelt words about denouncing the poor late Hans as his son. And then offer her the hand of his eldest son in marriage as a consolatory prize. Or perhaps even his own – Hans' mother had died when he was a baby, and the king was on the lookout for another pretty young girl to marry. Princess Elsa would be forced to accept to mend the fragile relationship between her own tiny kingdom and the great Southern Isles...

Yes, the provocation-upon-provocation card was one of the king's favourites. Feeling light as air, Hans realised that he would rather die than let go of an opportunity to spite his father.

Plans danced wildly through his head. He would do everything just as his father had ordered him to, only this little shadow play would end with him holding Princess Elsa's hand and laughing in his father's face. For perhaps the first time in his life, it really was as simple as that.

There was still the matter of his father's methods, which were questionable at best. Had his father really told him to father a child? An _heir_? And if the plan failed, a _bastard heir_? Heirs who were not himself or his brothers had never even crossed Hans' mind before... and it would not for a long time still, he decided firmly, stowing the strange thought away in the recesses of his mind. It would not be necessary.

Had the king forgotten that Hans was _excellent_ with women?


	7. Olaf

Ten thousand miles away, in a cave in the North Mountain, Elsa was watching snowmen fight to the death.

She had been unable to bear the thought of all the empty rooms where she and Anna had once laughed; all the ancient stones which still rang with Anna's voice, so close yet so far, so she had refused to return to Castle Arendelle. She had expected her father to give her another tirade on duty, but on the contrary, he had almost seemed relieved. So she had gotten the hidden cave. It was much larger than her bedroom in the castle, her father had seen to it that it was furnished as befit a Crown Princess, and she had her own servants and guards to command, but even after seven years, it still did not feel like home.

The snowman fights, however, were the best part of Elsa's day. There were nearly infinite combinations of existing snowmen to pit against each other, and once those ran out, Elsa could just design new snowmen and start all over again. On average, five of her current small snowmen could take down one of her current large snowmen, if they worked together seamlessly. Each snowman had its own personality, and some of Elsa's favourite fights were those where one side forgot about the other and started a new fight amongst themselves. Sometimes one of the snowmen would even sit down and refuse to fight, and the others would fall upon it and gleefully stamp it into powder. But most of the snowmen she created were wild and angry and ready to entertain.

That day she had pitted a particularly vicious large snowman she had nicknamed Marshmallow against ten small ones. Marshmallow was the winner of five previous battles, and as his roar echoed through the cavern Elsa used as an arena, the seven small snowmen scattered in terror. He would surely have to destroy a few of them to make the others attack. Otherwise, Elsa hoped that he would chase them into one of the two corridors where she had hidden a large snowman to serve as a wildcard. Neither of them had been told which side to take, and it would be interesting to see which they would choose. Elsa had learned that the only way to judge a man's true character was to put him on the battlefield. The same went for snowmen, and for little white-haired Crown Princesses.

"Who do you think's going to win today, Olaf?" Elsa asked the snowman against whose leg she was leaning.

"Big win," Olaf grunted. "Big always win."

Elsa laughed. "Oh Olaf, you don't understand anything about strategy!"

"What _strategy_? Can Olaf smash?"

"No, Olaf, you can't smash strategy." Elsa rested her head on the compacted snow that made up his knee. "Well, I guess someone as strong as you and I could."

Olaf's laughter rumbled through the cavern as he patted Elsa's head with one icy claw, leaving frost in her hair. "Small queen. Sweet queen. Olaf strong, but small queen stronger."

Elsa still remembered the day seven years ago when she had created Olaf.

* * *

That was back when she was still staying with the garrison at the Weselton border. The soldiers there had been hard men, cold as the grey cliffs that surrounded the meagre fort. They had not been cruel to her, not even while her father was away, but they had never been kind either. Even their horses kicked and bit when she tried to offer them apples and carrots.

Elsa would surely have crumbled had it not been for that glorious ecstasy of vengeance; that murder-scented wind that blew in from Weselton every single day.

And Olaf.

It had started on the night after Elsa had destroyed the capital. She had expected to feel closure; triumph; elation; anger; fear; anything at all. But there had been _nothing_. She had felt like a punctured balloon as she lay on her cot and wept, feeling a little bit of her soul leaking out into the cold night air with every sob. If the guards outside her door heard anything, they did not show it.

She had dreamed of Anna again that night, building a snowman against a burning sky, giggling louder and louder until her giggles turned into shrieks of pain. And she had realised that the icy apocalypse she had unleashed upon Weselton could do no more to avenge Anna than the snowman they had built that night could have done to protect her.

The morning had dawned upon Elsa building a snowman in the courtyard.

Elsa could have used her powers, but she chose not to. Breaking the compacted snow apart with her bare hands had felt almost like digging a grave, and when her fingers began to ache she had gritted her teeth and kept on digging, savouring the cleansing hurt. Every little detail of the snowman had had to be exactly as it had been on the night of Anna's death: the same peculiarly shaped head; stick arms of the same length; pebble eyes of the same shape and colour. A carrot stolen from the store room had completed him nicely.

"Hi, I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs!" the snowman had announced after Elsa brought him to life with just a casual wave of her hand. Elsa had knelt and cried in his stick arms.

They had spent the rest of the day wandering through the fort, scaring soldiers and talking about everything and nothing. It had sent a twinge not unlike pain through Elsa's chest when Olaf told her that he did in fact remember Anna. He thought that Anna gave the warmest hugs out of anyone he had ever met – though Elsa's cold hugs were nice too. Yes, she did, Elsa had replied, and she would have started crying again if Olaf had not hurriedly asked her to tell him some funny stories about Anna. Elsa had told him all about her and Elsa's raids on the royal kitchens, and the way Anna had always cajoled Elsa into using her powers for the purpose of pranking staff and foreign ministers alike. Every time the sweet sorrow threatened to overtake her, Olaf had patted her shoulder and told her that people never really died; that they lived on and brightened the world with happy memories.

In the evening they had built a little model of Castle Arendelle in the courtyard. Olaf had been terribly excited to see his "birthplace", and Elsa had hesitated for a moment before finishing the castle with a wall of blue ice, complete with twigs and rocks for the men and weapons trapped inside it.

It was then that the soldier had staggered into the courtyard. Olaf had waved at him, and the soldier's eyes had gone wide in terror. With a cry of "Goddamn it!" he had stumbled back, slipped, and fallen on his backside in the snow.

Even from a distance, Elsa had been able to smell drink on him.

"Don't be afraid of him," she had said with a smile. "He's my friend. His name is Olaf."

"Monster," the soldier had spat in reply. "Helping the war effort was one thing, but this... this is blasphemy! You're a monster making more monsters. The king should kill you once this war's over."

He had struggled to his feet and left almost at a run, and Elsa had rolled her eyes and promised Olaf that her father would deal harshly with such rudeness.

Olaf's smile had disappeared as he asked Elsa if he really was a monster, but before Elsa had had a chance to reply, the soldier returned with four of his comrades. Their faces had been hard and grim and they had not walked; they had marched across the courtyard as though into battle. An iron fist had twisted Elsa's heart as she noticed that two of them carried a steaming cast iron pot between them.

"What are you doing?" she had asked, springing to her feet. "I don't need you. Go back to your wine."

The soldiers had paid no attention to her.

"What do you think you're doing? Don't come any closer. The heat's bad for Olaf!"

"Damn right it is," the soldier who had called her a monster growled. "I'll grab that damn snowman, you take care of the girl!"

"Oh, no," Olaf had muttered. "Oh, no no no no, this is bad... Run, Elsa! I'll draw them off!"

But the soldier had already launched himself at Olaf. The snowman had squealed and tried to run away on his stubby legs, with the soldier scrambling behind him. They had struggled around the courtyard, trampling the snow castle, splinters of the ice wall tinkling like broken glass under the soldier's boots while Elsa begged them to stop.

"Please!" she could remember herself screaming as two soldiers twisted her arms behind her back, squeezing her hands between their bodies. "He's my friend; my _only _friend! He never did anything to you, he's harmless, why are you doing this, let him go, _please_!"

But her words could just as well have been snowflakes. In the trampled ruins of her Castle Arendelle, the drunken soldier had pinned Olaf to the ground. His carrot nose was snapped in half; one of his arms was missing and the other stuck out at an odd angle; his pebble eyes were big with terror. And the remaining two soldiers were holding the pot over him, tilting it until a drop of steaming water wormed into his cheek with a hiss...

"_Noooo!_" Elsa had howled, choking on sobs. "Let him go, I'll do _anything! PLEASE!_"

And Olaf had begun to change.

A whirlwind of snow had risen around him, blowing the water away harmlessly. He had bulged out like a marshmallow in an oven as the snow stuck to him, his stick arms and hair snapping off, his pebble eyes and buttons clinking to the ground. His torso had widened into a snow-swept mountain; his arms and legs had grown as thick as tree trunks; his face had condensed into two black holes for eyes and below them a mouth that gaped like a cave. Shards of blue ice, sharp as swords and thick as stalactites, had sprouted from his hands, his back, and the roof of his mouth. With one sweep of a club-like arm, he had sent both soldiers and the pot flying. As his fist closed around the drunken one, Elsa had noticed that there was no longer anyone holding her arms.

"Bad man hurt Olaf!" he had roared, smashing the soldier against the perimeter wall over and over until Elsa's head had begun to pound from the impact. By the second blow the soldier had lost consciousness, lolling like a ragdoll in Olaf's grip, his face the colour of curdled milk.

"How _you_ like hurt, bad man?" Olaf had asked as he dropped the soldier to the ground. His fist had been stained pink with blood, and he had laughed with a sound like the ground opening and all the deep dark things awakening from their slumber.

When the King arrived, he had assured Elsa that she and Olaf had done the right thing, and that the drunken soldier was not dead, only knocked out.

All the same, Elsa never saw that soldier again.

* * *

"I understand it now," Elsa said aloud. "Papa had planned it all along. He wanted to see if I can transfer my powers to the things I create."

"What small queen say?" Olaf grunted. "Olaf not understand."

"It's nothing. Just something I remembered from long ago."

The two reserve snowmen had joined Marshmallow after all. Elsa watched them obliterating the shrieking small snowmen, and felt just a little disappointed. Big always win, Olaf had said, and the other snowmen all seemed to think so too. Justice and revenge and championing the oppressed did not seem to cross their minds at all.

In fact, Elsa was forced to admit, not much did.

It was useless to miss the old Olaf. He had been weak and fragile, just like that little princess who had stood on the watchtower and refused to kill people even though they were enemies. Survival was moving forward; letting old precious things flutter away like dandelion seeds from the lips of a child.

Elsa wondered, without really feeling anything, just how much had been planned by her father. Two years ago, five of her guards had cornered her in her bedroom as she changed into her nightgown and tried to force themselves on her. They had squealed like pigs as she mounted each of them on an ice spike. One year ago, her replacement set of guards had delivered to her two men whom they claimed to be Weselton spies. She and Olaf had managed to keep them alive for two weeks. Watching them die with their broken hands clasping her feet had not hurt at all.

She wondered how long ago her father had last come to visit her.

She wondered how long ago she had last seen the sky.

She did not keep track of the days. Of course, she could have if she wanted to, but she did not see any point in doing so. Only the years she counted, because every Christmas her father would come to visit her, and they would have a little dinner with her guards and handmaids. He brought her expensive gifts – an ermine fur coat that had become food for moths in her closet; a white silk dress set with rubies that she never wore because it made her look like she was bleeding all over; earrings with diamonds and sapphires which she never bothered finding when they fell out; even a little white kitten with a jewelled collar that wandered out into the snow and died.

"Small queen look sad. Snowman fight bad? Must Olaf go smash?"

"Yes, Olaf," Elsa admitted, "I am sad. No, don't go smash Marshmallow, he fought well. I just can't live like this anymore."

Olaf cradled her like a baby. "Olaf's queen. Why queen sad?"

"Because I need another war, Olaf." Elsa sighed, and two tears slid down her cheeks, freezing solid on Olaf's arm. "I need more vengeance. I need more death."


	8. Dolls and Dollmakers

In a fit of self-indulgent whimsy, Hans had named his ship _Drosselmeyer's Doll_.

She was a pretty little two-masted brig, as swift and manoeuvrable as a tern, too small to be an efficient cargo ship but without doubt a valuable asset to the Royal Fleet. And she was several thousand times more valuable than anything else Hans' father had ever entrusted him with. It felt good, even though the king had made it abundantly clear which he would choose if he had the choice between the ship returning without Hans, or Hans returning without the ship.

After an exhilarating three days of leaping through waves with the salt wind whipping his hair, Hans found sailing down the fjord oppressively boring. His men did not seem to think so: they clustered on the deck and chattered like parrots, congratulating their young captain on his first successful voyage and making bawdy comments about Princess Elsa when they thought he was not listening.

It was a typical Northern summer's day with its mixture of cold shadows and warm sunlight and sharp reflections, as hypnotising as poppy extract. To stop himself from dozing off, Hans ran through his plan for the hundredth time. He was visiting Arendelle to arrange a trade route for an esteemed group of merchants, and, knowing how wary the royals of Arendelle were of any outsiders, he would be representing the king of the Southern Isles who in turn personally represented the merchants. It was all very real, and there was nothing suspicious about it - it was easily the kind of task that a royal father would give his youngest son to help him find his feet in the world and to teach him about foreign relations while keeping him safe and not entrusting him with anything particularly important. Hans was actually hoping that the king would refuse to accommodate the merchants. That would buy him more time with Princess Elsa, and besides, those fat puffed-up oafs deserved to be knocked down a notch or two...

The _Doll_ rounded one of the fjord's lightning-bolt bends, and Hans found himself face to face with the Wall of Life.

The afternoon suddenly became uncomfortably cold. Hans was vaguely aware of an awed silence descending over his crew as he stared open-mouthed, not caring how ridiculous he must look. The Wall glittered with a million facets in the sunlight, cold and clear as blue diamonds, so high and so thick that it would never have occurred to him that there was a castle on the other side of it. And yes, there was blood in it – soft curtains and branched veins of blood, delicate as the wings of an insect in amber. It was the most beautiful and the most terrible thing Hans had ever seen. It was power made concrete; power condensed forever in its very purest form. And it was not the power of kings and politicians and puppets and puppeteers, but the power of one tiny soul's rage against the entire world.

There really were dead Weselton soldiers embedded in the Wall, Hans realised as he stepped off his ship and into the cold of the Wall's shadow. It was a humbling thought that the king of Weselton had never so much as said a word about having them taken down and given a proper burial.

And as he passed under the Wall with his entourage, he began to doubt for the first time in his life whether he was worthy of the woman he had chosen to pursue.

* * *

The morning dawned red and blue over Castle Arendelle.

In the suitably princely rooms given to him by the castle steward, Hans washed and dressed quickly – the king and queen held court in the morning, and there would surely be a swarm of petitioners in the throne room. A wave of winter air hit him as he stepped outside, and he shivered and went back for his coat. It seemed as though every square inch of the castle grounds was at least partially covered by the Wall's shadow, and Hans supposed that he should be grateful for it after the heat of summer on the Isles. The Wall probably kept out the wind in winter, too.

Hans took a slow walk through the gardens, familiarising himself with his surroundings. The castle's slim white towers were beautiful - much more elegant than his father's monstrous construction which sprawled like a pot-bellied drunk and seemed to take up far more space than necessary, as was typical of everything on the Southern Isles. But, with its pretty gardens and hopelessly flimsy walls, it was without doubt a castle made for peace. The men of Weselton must have thought it was all a huge joke right until they died.

As he entered the elegantly furnished throne room, Hans finally saw the Princess.

She sat on a throne of crystal glass on the king's right side, a tiara of what looked like beaten frost on her white locks. Hans had heard tales of her beauty; had even been told that she was the loveliest woman in the world, but he had still half-expected her to be a wiry warrior maiden leaning on an axe, not a little snowdrop of a girl who radiated curious energy not unlike a child forced to wear fancy clothes for some unknown grown-up scheme. And yet for every one petitioner the king received, the Princess received ten. Peasants and nobles alike knelt at her feet and pawed her shimmering blue dress; men in fine silks and street urchins pressed her gloved hands to their lips; washerwomen and princesses held squirming babies out to her. Hans could not help but feel impressed with the easy confidence and hypnotic shyness with which she dealt with her subjects. Disarming smiles; blessings; whispered words of comfort; sharp waves of the hand to subdue the overly ardent – all of these she gave with an unbridled grace.

As Hans walked up the dais, her pale blue eyes twinkled and she smiled. And as he knelt and planted a light kiss on the silk of her glove, he half-imagined the soft cold pulse leaping under her skin.

The queen had grey hair and red lines under her eyes as though she had been crying for years, and the king had the twitchy try-hard demeanour of a parent continuously overshadowed by his child. Just as Hans had hoped, the king sent him away with the assurance that he would think about what had been said. But Princess Elsa remained stately and silent as a cliff of ice, and when he turned away in mock dejectedness she smiled quietly after him, as though enjoying a joke that only she and he knew.

In the afternoon Hans went down to the castle stables to ask if there were any horses that needed exercise. The stable boy stared at him as though he was some kind of mythical beast, babbled a string of titles both flattering and absurd, and presented him with a young fjord stallion. Hans rode the sturdy little horse all around the castle grounds – but neither crop nor sugar cubes could persuade it to go anywhere near the Wall.

It was on his second circuit of the grounds that he came across Princess Elsa.

She was walking through the rose garden flanked by four guards, her blue dress and icy crown exchanged for a pleated green skirt and a green ribbon that hung unevenly from her white hair. Removed from the trappings of power, she was even lovelier than before.

"Prince Hans!" she cried, waving and running towards him while her guards shuffled awkwardly after her. "Just the man I was looking for!"

"Princess Elsa." Hans vaulted off and fell to one knee in a single practiced motion that left his stallion quite unsettled.

"Do you have a moment? I hope I'm not interrupting your ride..."

"Of course not! I always have time for Your Highness."

The Princess nodded, then cleared her throat and puffed her chest out like a little turtledove.

"Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, you are cordially invited to join me for supper tonight, at seven o'clock, in... well, that gazebo over there will do nicely."

Hans blinked at her for far longer than he should have.

"Your Highness, it would be my honour," he said, composing himself hastily and giving her what he believed to be a disarming smile.

Princess Elsa returned the smile, relaxing visibly as she exhaled. "Well, that's sorted then!" she said merrily, beckoning to her guards and almost skipping away. "Remember, seven o'clock. If you forget, I'll hunt you down!"

Hans leaned against the stallion's broad back and stared after her. So Princess Elsa had made her first move, only he was not sure what game she was playing. Was she trying to lull him into a false sense of security by playing the silly little girl? Was her twitchy father or her greying mother using her to bait their nets? Or was she simply an impetuous winter storm, never denying herself anything she desired? Perhaps she had a host of handsome young men just like him, ready to pick themselves up by the bootstraps at one word from her pretty pink lips...

But it did not matter. Princess Elsa of Arendelle, the Snow Queen, the Child of Prophecy, had just invited Prince Hans of the Southern Isles on a _date_.

* * *

Hans spent about ten minutes pondering whether it would be best to be early, on time, or late. In the end, he decided that the casual neutrality of being on time would be the easiest to work with.

Then there was the matter of flowers. Crocuses were nicely symbolic, but, due to their being on the coat of arms of Arendelle, it was inconceivable that none of her previous suitors had thought of that. The same went for snowdrops, or anything else with "snow" in the name. Bringing roses to a dinner in a rose garden was just vulgar. In the end, Hans thought of Princess Elsa in her green dress, her ribbon askew, and gathered together a spray of bluebells and lily-of-the-valley. Hoping that she would still be wearing that dress, he finished the bouquet with a few unripe ears of wheat.

As it happened, it was the Princess who was late. She flew into the gazebo at ten past seven, nearly bowled Hans over, and furiously apologised while trying to explain something about a pig and a pie. Hans laughed and handed her the flowers, and she gazed in wonder at the little blue and white bells before lifting them to her face and inhaling their scent with a smile that said more than a hundred words of gratitude.

"And now, if you don't mind, we'd like to be left alone," she told the guards standing awkwardly outside the gazebo.

"But Your Highness, your safety is—"

"Every time you start worrying about my safety, just take a look at that wall over there. Now please leave us. That's an order."

"Don't mind them," the Princess said to Hans, giving a small curtsy and sitting down on the wrought iron chair he had pulled out for her. "They love their little girl."

A butler arrived with the first course: a creamy soup of fish and clams, elegant enough for royalty but hearty enough that it didn't taste like prettily served air.

"You must understand me," said Princess Elsa as she broke a bread roll in half, "I haven't been further than a day's ride from the castle in seven years. One could go completely mad like this. So I invite visitors from overseas to have supper with me. And you seem to be by far the most interesting visitor we've had today."

"Your Highness, I... I thank you." Hans blushed automatically, but inside he felt a faint stirring of unease which only grew when the spark in the princess' eyes vanished, and an icy official regret crept into her voice.

"However, Prince Hans, I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot. Let me make it clear that I have no interest in a marriage alliance with the Southern Isles."

Hans slowly lowered his spoon back into his soup.

So she really was clever.

Then again, there was a long way between being clever, and being paranoid or egomaniacal.

"Your Highness, I really had no intention—"

"You don't have to say anything. I understand you only too well, my prince."

She sounded so genuinely sad, so like a little girl who had just been rejected by her first love, that Hans found his hand stretching towards hers. She pulled away, calmly, formally, and cradled her hand against her breast as though his touch had hurt her.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking deep into her pale blue eyes. "I truly, truly am."

"Don't be. You can't imagine just how well I understand you." The Princess shook her head, forced a smile, and began eating her soup with desperate deliberation. Her eyes trembled under a film of tears.

"Princess Elsa." Hans could feel the terrible beast that was failure awakening, running an icy lash down his spine. "There's nothing I can say to you other than that I'm sorry, from the very bottom of my heart, that it has to be like this. Please, if you want me to leave, just say so. I'll get back on my ship tonight. You won't have to see me again..."

"No!" Her eyes flashed as she raised her hands to her face, and Hans wanted to laugh, it was all so stupidly simple, he had made the most dangerous weapon in the world cry; he had waltzed right into his father's trap and now Princess Elsa would—

But all she did with those hands was dash the tears from her eyes.

"Please, I don't want you to go. At least not until you've gotten through with my father. It would be unfair otherwise."

"Princess, something tells me that that might take a long time..."

Princess Elsa smiled bitterly. Then she pushed her empty bowl away with such force that it nearly went over the edge, and made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. "Well, this is awkward. Now we're both miserable and this was meant to be such a lovely night. You know what, how about we just pretend I never said anything and enjoy the evening? Ugh, that sounds so selfish, I should probably just stop—"

"Princess Elsa." Hans wanted to faint with relief. "That sounds like a _wonderful_ idea."

The Princess' eyes opened wide. "You really think so? Well, that's great. That's wonderful. And," she added wistfully, "I'm sure we're both _very_ good at pretending..."

* * *

By the time the second course (roast venison with a sauce of red berries) arrived, Princess Elsa was laughing again.

"I still can't get over the fact that you have _twelve_ older brothers!" she cried. "Father says there's just too many of you Southerners, but I never would've thought!"

"My father says there's too few of you Northerners to go around," Hans replied innocently.

"Well at least we remember all our siblings' names. Unlike a certain Prince Hans...!"

"Oh, come on. I already told you, I'll remember in a few minutes! Besides, those two pretended I was invisible for the first three years of my life..."

"Hans, that's awful!" cried the princess, and took his hand in her own.

The hands that had destroyed armies and brought a kingdom to its knees. The hands that had been kissed by a thousand kings and beggars, but always through gloves. Hans had expected them to be cold as ice, but they were more like summer shadows: soft and cool, with a desperate secret warmth pounding just beneath the surface.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose it was."

* * *

To Princess Elsa's evident delight, there was chocolate cheesecake for dessert. She popped a forkful into her mouth and sighed in satisfaction before remarking, "You know, Prince Hans, this is probably the longest I've ever known anyone without them asking to see my powers."

"Really?" Hans felt like a child playing hide-and-seek, spinning blindly towards cries of "Warm! Warmer! _Hot!_"

"Oh, yeah! Usually it's all 'Your Highness, would you oh so kindly freeze the water in this glass?' and 'Your Highness, my little boy wants to play in the snow but I'm too lazy to take him into the mountains!' and 'Your Highness, my wine's not cold enough!'"

Hans burst out laughing. "Well you see, I don't believe in annoying my opponents to death."

"...and then I have to go and explain to them that they don't start shooting the biggest cannon in their kingdom at passing ships just to entertain visitors! Because that's all it is, really." She looked away and began poking her cake with her fork. "That's all _I _am. A weapon."

_Warm, cooler, cold..._

"Weapons are beautiful," Hans said quickly. "People lie and cheat and commit the greatest evils, but weapons only strike where you point them. Growing up, my sword and my crossbow were my two closest friends. You know, once when I was little, I knocked Alfonse out with a blunted sabre. Of course, after he came to, we all played a fun family game called 'Let's All Try To Skin Hans', but _damn_ it felt good!"

"You got to play with crossbows and swords _and _a ship?" The Princess looked a little more alive. "Father won't even let me have a fencing tutor. Could you teach me a bit about using a sword sometime?"

_Warmer_...

Hans smiled. "I'd love to. I'll show you all my toys tomorrow if you want."

"Wait." A blush crept into the Princess' cheeks. "Did I just seriously ask if I could see your _sword?"_ She fell about giggling, and Hans joined in, his spirit soaring.

_Warmer, warmer, hot!_

* * *

**A/N: Well, this is as far as I've pre-written the story. Which is to say, while I know almost exactly what's going to happen, every new chapter will be written from scratch. And my life (both working and playing) is quite busy, so I'm afraid to say that I'll be taking longer breaks between chapters. Don't think I've abandoned the story, I'm definitely going to finish it! Just please be patient and keep the reviews and other positive input coming - it makes such a huge difference! **


	9. Lies and Liars

Another red dawn; another white morning.

"Morning, Hans!" The Princess found him again as he rode through the gardens. "Did you sleep well? Was everything to your comfort?"

Hans barely had time to reply before she dragged him off on a guided tour of the castle. As they wound through elegant hallways and in and out of tastefully furnished rooms, they both made an effort to speak of everything and nothing, and Princess Elsa's mood did not wane until they reached the nursery.

There were two little beds in the corner, pushed close together to form one larger bed. One of them had striped green sheets and purple cushions shaped like crocus flowers, the other a blue silk bedspread with embroidered snowflakes. The Princess sank down onto the blue silk, oblivious to the cloud of dust that rose around her, and wrapped her arms around one of the crocus cushions.

"Sorry," she said to Hans, her voice trembling. "I just haven't been in here for such a long time..."

"Princess! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'd just like to sit here for a little while, if you don't mind."

Gently, Hans uncurled one of the Princess' hands from the cushion and took it in his own, feeling it tremble like a caught bird against his fingers.

"As soon as Anna learned to talk, she refused to sleep in my parents' room," she explained after a while. "She only wanted to be with me, so we moved two extra beds in here. We slept in here until she turned five. She'd keep me up all night and I wouldn't be able to concentrate on my lessons the next day..."

"You must miss her terribly," Hans said gently. "It must've been so hard for you..."

The Princess dropped the cushion to the floor and turned to face him.

"You know," she said sharply, "the funny thing is, it _wasn't_. It wasn't hard at all. Anna was a horrible sister. Absolutely _horrid_. She never cared about me at all, I was never anything but a toy for her, a machine that made magic, and no matter what happened it was always about her, she never cared about me _at all_..."

She slumped, her eyes dry as ice, and stared at the wall.

"Please, Princess, don't say that. You don't have to be strong all the—hey, what's wrong with your hair?"

The Princess froze.

"_What_," she whispered in a voice that seemed to hover just above fainting, "_is wrong with my hair_?"

"It's turning brown. Or red, more like red. Just here, at the top..."

"Don't touch it!" Princess Elsa wrenched herself out of Hans' grip. "Hans, I'm sick! I'm very, very sick, and if I don't get my medicine soon, I'll die! I have to go!"

"Princess!" Hans sprang to his feet but she lunged away like a deer from a wolf, her eyes so wide that he could see white all around them, her hands scrabbling like a madwoman's at her hair and sending frizzy puffs bouncing out from under her ribbon.

"Just let me go! _Please_!"

She turned on her heel and ran, faster than Hans had ever seen a princess run, her pretty black shoes clattering away into silence.

* * *

"Please excuse me for yesterday," the Princess explained the next day, her hair white from root to tip again. "I overreacted quite a bit. It's just something that happens every now and then because of the way my powers work. I'd rather not talk about it right now, if you don't mind. No, I wasn't really in danger of dying. _No_, Hans, I _don't _need to stay in bed today. It's one of those things where you take your medicine and you feel better right away..."

Hans absorbed what she said. Her hair could be an interesting point of investigation. Perhaps, if they lay dormant for too long, her powers would devour themselves like the organs of a starving man, eventually turning her into an ordinary human but draining her life force in the process? Or perhaps, like most things with women (or at least that was the way Hans understood it) her powers waxed and waned with the cycles of the moon?

"Anyway," Princess Elsa was saying, "You said you'd show me your ship yesterday, but we forgot, so how about we go over there today?"

"Huh—oh, of course, Princess. Shall we go?"

"Sure! Oh, and Hans, could you please drop this whole 'Princess' nonsense? It takes too long to say. Call me Elsa."

Hans grinned.

"Okay, Elsa!"

Even though it was dwarfed by some of the other ships at the harbour, the _Drosselmeyer's Doll _elicited a chorus of "ooh!"s and "aah!"s from Elsa. And, after she had finished complimenting him on the shininess of the decks and the curve of the sails, she sat on an upturned bucket and watched spellbound as he demonstrated various sword-fighting techniques, thrusting and parrying an invisible enemy all around the deck.

"Bravo!" She applauded and Hans bowed, sporting a blush that was almost genuine. "_Please _can you teach me? Just the basics?"

"Sure! Just grab that mop over there and we'll practice." As Elsa hefted the wooden weapon with mock ferocity, he assumed the proper stance behind her, and she giggled as he encircled her slender waist with his arms and entwined his hands with hers. "Relax your grip. Be firm but fluid, like a wave in the moment before it breaks... No, don't grip so hard. For this you need to be water, not ice. Ice shatters if you strike it hard enough, but water just comes rushing back in... There, you've got it, now step with me. It's just like a dance. Step, step, thrust... No, step with the other foot, now step, step, block... Keep going, remember, just like a wave..."

"This is not working," complained Elsa after barely ten minutes. "I'm useless at this."

"You're great," Hans whispered into her ear. "You're brilliant."

"You know," Elsa mused, "what if my skills are applied only? Maybe, you know, I need an element of danger or something like that? Get yourself a mop and we'll duel!"

And just like that, the moment of contact was over.

"Ready?" cried Elsa as she bounced from foot to foot, brandishing the mop. "Ooh, I can feel my heart pounding! I tell you, this is what I was made for! I was _born_ ready!"

Hans smiled and came at her with half-hearted deliberation, knocking his mop against hers feebly, dodging her wild swings just three times before allowing her to get him in the ribs with a force he had far underestimated.

"I yield, I yield!" he panted, trying to put his hands behind his head and examine himself for damage at the same time. "I know why your father doesn't want you doing fencing! You'd beat your tutor! I swear, you—"

He broke off when he realised that Elsa's fists were clenched in anger.

"You held back!" she snapped. "You could've finished me off long ago! If you're going to hold back just because I'm the princess, or because I'm a fragile little girl, I'm not interested!"

"But Elsa, I—"

"No 'but's! Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, I order you to pick up that mop right now and hit me!"

"Elsa, no, that's not fair—"

"Fine, then I'll hit you even harder!"

Elsa swung the mop back and charged. Hans struck it out of her hands and stuck the point of his mop under her jaw, praying that she would be satisfied... but as she tried to sidestep her foot got caught in the folds of her dress, and her eyes went wide and her shoes scrabbled uselessly against the polished deck. Hans flung himself at her but it was too late – she fell onto her back with a gasp and a painful _thud_!

"Oh my god, Elsa, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry..." Hans babbled as he knelt at her side. And as she winced and raised herself on her elbows he saw a look on her face that told him that this time it really was all over; the air was so sweet as it rushed into his lungs for the last time...

And then Princess Elsa hugged him.

"Oh, Hans," she whispered into his shoulder as her hands trembled in the white fabric of his coat, "If only you knew the things my other suitors offered me. Armies, fleets, cities, someone even went so far as to offer me an island... but honesty? Now that's something no-one had thought of before..."

* * *

The next morning, it almost seemed customary for Hans to meet Elsa in the rose garden. Although she tried hard to conceal it, Hans could not help but notice that she was putting more weight on her right foot than her left.

"You really shouldn't apologise," she assured him. "It was an accident, and it's not like I didn't have it coming. And you know," she added in a conspiratory tone, "I think I might just manage to give my guards the slip today. How about we go do something interesting? Have an _adventure_?"

"I _love _adventures! What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I thought, since it's such a beautiful day and it's so cold here under the wall – I mean I don't really get cold, but still it's pretty bleak – how about we go somewhere outside?"

"Sounds great. Hey Elsa, do you like horses? We could go for a ride."

Elsa's eyes sparkled with delight. "Horses? That's _exactly _what I was going to say! Just wait here while I get changed, all right?"

When Elsa returned, she was a reverie in white. A white riding habit; white leather gloves and white stockings; a white cloak trimmed with ermine tails and fastened with a blue ribbon around her white throat.

"Winter's queen," Hans said, and kissed her on the brow.

"I'm not queen yet," she replied, giggling.

"Well, winter isn't here yet either..."

Elsa had no difficulty leading Hans' stallion and her own great white-dun horse through the ice gate. She rode fast, almost too fast for Hans to keep up, laughing and screaming "Catch me!" and then driving her horse harder and harder; pushing Hans away with every ounce of strength in her delicate frame. So focused was he on Elsa, leaping like a winter hare through snowfalls of grass, that he barely noticed the mountainous landscape melting into birch forests, and when Elsa pulled her reins and said that she would like to stop if it was all right with him, he nearly rode right past her.

She had chosen a beautiful place, Hans realised as he tethered his horse to a birch. His boots sank into a carpet of bluebells and ferns, and a stream prattled behind him while larks wheeled through the sky.

"Ouch, it's so _cold_!"

When Hans turned around, he found Elsa hopping about in the stream, her dress hitched up to her shins and her boots resting in the bluebells, while her horse tossed its head and tore big wet mouthfuls from the undergrowth.

"Don't worry, Leopold knows better than to run off," she explained in reply to Hans' quizzical stare. "Now this is real glacier water. Bathing in it is supposed to cure any illness, but honestly if I were, you know, _normal_, I wouldn't really say that's worth freezing your ass off for!"

_Run from me_, thought Hans as he pulled off his boots and socks, _giggle and run away into the icy water; retreat into your summer coldness. But I'll catch you, my dear. I'll always catch you._

The water burned unbearably as he rushed in and kissed her.

* * *

The afternoon drew on, slow and sweet as honey.

Under the spreading birches, Hans and Elsa kissed and wandered and dreamed. When they grew breathless from kissing, they told each other the prettiest lies they knew, and the lies entwined with their fragile little happiness and blossomed into truths. When they grew hungry, they found a blackberry bush and stripped it like two bear cubs, kissing the purple juice off each other's lips. They danced, simple ballroom waltzes giving way to wild heathen spins, and fell onto the grass together when they could dance no more. Elsa's body was warm and supple and yet so distant – a goddess folded into a girl like a ship in a bottle, rushing away into her world of star-swept plains and molecule oceans while a mortal man wrapped his pathetic little arms around her and tried so arrogantly to keep her on the ground.

And, as they lay side by side under the birches with Elsa plucking petals from one of the flowers which Hans had scattered through her ivory hair, he told her that he loved her.

She stared at him through a curtain of white, her hair tumbling in foaming waves over her face and shoulders. There were grass stains on her cloak and dress, her bare feet were streaked with mud, and Hans had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

But then she lowered her pale blue gaze, dropped the flower to the ground, and became cold once more.

"No, Hans," she said. "You don't love me. You love a pretty wooden chair, with cushions made of lies."

_Well, at least you saved me the trouble of figuring out where things stand._

"Elsa," he said, taking her hand. "When I kiss you, I'm not kissing a wooden chair. When I hold your hand, I'm not holding lies. If you want me to prove it to you, I'll admit that I can't. At least not now. But remember that night you told me that I'm the first man who didn't ask to see your powers? I can be that man for you, Elsa. I can be that man always..."

"There are just some things _I_ can't be for you, Hans. Don't you get it yet? That I couldn't give you that throne even if I wanted to?"

Hans' reply was drowned by the sound of hoof-beats. He sprang to his feet and grasped his sword, but it was only Elsa's white horse, galloping through the trees and whinnying as birds exploded from the undergrowth.

"Leopold, Leopold, come back!" cried Elsa as she ran after him and fell to her knees in the grass when she realised that it was useless. "He just ran off! Oh, Hans, you have every right to say 'I told you so' now!"

"It's all right," said Hans, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Horses can be unpredictable."

"Leopold isn't! Something must've frightened him. This is _really _bad, we can't stay here any longer – oh! – but we can't go anywhere, we only have one horse..."

"Relax. It must've been a bird or a fox. I promise you, there's nothing there."

"You don't know that!" Elsa was definitely panicking now. "There could be _anything _in this forest! Wolves, bandits, bounty hunters... I should never have brought us here, now we're stranded and it's all my fault—aah!"

Grinning evilly, Hans picked her up and held her like a bride, and her face turned pale and then red as she struggled and protested.

"Why, you—how dare you? I'll have you charged with treason, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles—no, don't even _think _about putting me on that horse, oh god, I'm going to fall, you're kidnapping the Princess, I'm going to—"

"You _won't _fall. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this Princess needs a good kidnapping every now and then."

Elsa stared at him in shock. Then she threw her arms around his neck and crushed his lips in a long, slow kiss.

* * *

Hans' horse clearly didn't enjoy carrying both Hans and Elsa, but put in an admirable effort nonetheless.

They rode leisurely through fields and forests as the setting sun painted the world in gold and the grasses swayed in the evening breeze. Curled up like a cat with her hands clasped around Hans' shoulders, Elsa fell asleep, and as he listened to the soft rhythm of her breathing, he wound the flowers he had crowned her with into stray locks of her hair, tying her to all his desperate dreams and murky futures.

She woke up in time to lead the horse through the ice gateway and offer a groggy explanation to the guards assembled in the courtyard of the castle – but as they passed, Hans saw that they were looking only at him, and their faces carried the grim disgust of hunters watching a dog in the early stages of rabies slink past. Hans greeted them and rode on.

There were more guards standing on the palace steps, peering at Hans through the shadows. As Elsa thanked him for a perfect day and bade him goodnight, a dozen pairs of eyes bored into his back, and as he led his horse back into its stable, he heard footsteps behind him, but when he turned to look, there was nothing.

They came for him as he crossed the gardens.

Three young men, barely older than him, blocked his path and ordered him to surrender into their custody. They did not know what kind of beast they were hunting, he saw. They had been ordered to take him alive, perhaps even to die if he willed them to die, and they were afraid. But when he let them know politely but firmly that they had made a mistake, they threw themselves at him, their faces wild with rage – or love; could it really be love? However, seventeen years of fighting off Alfonse and the others had made Hans sharper than any callow palace thug. It took almost nothing for him to give the biggest man a shallow but nasty-looking cut with his sword, and to send the other two sprawling in the rose bushes.

"Listen to me!" He circled, holding his sword at arm's length, locking eyes with each man in turn. The two in the bushes were scrambling to their feet but looked unsure of how to proceed from there, while the other wrapped his hands around the blood-soaked gash in his trousers - and oh god, could he really be _whimpering?_

"This does not have to end in bloodshed! I know what I have been accused of. Kidnapping the princess, is it? Or have they already tweaked it into treason? No, you there, get down and _listen to me_! I am innocent of anything other than obeying Princess Elsa's requests. She wanted to go for a ride, so I accompanied her. I will meet with the King tomorrow. I will explain..."

He stopped when he felt more pairs of eyes drilling into him, one burning hotter than the rest.

And then he heard that bitter laugh that was almost fatherly.

"Oh, Hans. Poor stupid little Hans, always ready to play dumb. Now drop that sword if you want any chance for this to go smoothly, my dear boy..."

Hans found himself staring at his father.

* * *

**A/N: Phew, this romance stuff sure is difficult to write. Next chapter will go faster!**

**Thanks to everyone for bearing with me. Also, Charming Rogue, you have been unmasked. Now come out with your sword drawn so that I may reward you! **


	10. The Lamb and the Knife

"Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, you are hereby charged with high treason against the kingdoms of Arendelle, the Southern Isles, and Weselton."

The shackles were so cold against Hans' wrists. The words of the king of Arendelle settled, lifeless as snowflakes, into the silence of the prison cell.

"Your Highness, I wish to see Princess Elsa," was the only thing Hans said. It was the only thing left to say.

The king's hands tightened into fists, and for a moment Hans thought that he was going to strike him. But then he shook his head, and his eyes glazed over with pure regret.

"No. My daughter will not be seeing you again."

In the end, Hans was forced to admit that it had been executed brilliantly.

The morning after his imprisonment, his father had had him brought before the royals of Arendelle to listen as he told them all about his smart but unstable youngest son, to whom he had always given either too much or too little attention; who had never been the same since his mother's untimely death; who had taken some important legal documents from his brother, boarded a ship, and sailed to Arendelle one fine day, with his concerned father following him just out of sight. Hans had seen the disbelief in the king and queen's eyes, amusement even at this old, fat babbling man, and he had dared to hope.

But that was before his father brought out the evidence.

A letter to an assassin, considered to be the master of his art in certain circles. A contract for just one job: the death of a princess. It was written in Hans' own handwriting, using the sumptuous blue ink he enjoyed using, and bore a perfect replica of his signature. Every detail had been perfect, from the sweeping way he crossed his 't's to the almost invisible dot he always put in the top right of his signature. His father had even managed to find someone to play the assassin – a sinewy young man with three fingers and all his teeth missing, limping between two prison wardens and bleating the words he had been taught to say on the rack with deranged animal eyes.

Yet not even the 'assassin' had unnerved Hans as much as the marriage contract.

"Unfortunately," his father had explained with all the delicacy he could muster, "my son has committed grave crimes not only against his own kingdom and yours, but also against the kingdom of Weselton. For you see, by seeking your daughter's hand in marriage, even if it was for the evil purposes you have just witnessed, he violated a contract that I made with His Majesty the King of Weselton after the war ended: that my youngest son would marry his eldest daughter, Princess Rosalind."

Princess Rosalind. She had been a willing playmate for Hans – and an even more willing research partner for certain unmentionable experiments which Hans had wanted to perform after he first realised that having a girl touch him really wasn't as gross as he had once thought. She spent hours every day working her hair into gravity-defying curls, wrote poems about things she didn't quite understand, and squeaked like a mouse when startled – utterly endearing, and utterly boring. Hans had not seen her for two years, for there had been more interesting women to occupy him closer to home, but this...

"It was the best match the girl could have hoped for," his father had said, "what with the war and all. Of course it is but a trifle, but due to its delicate nature, it should be handled by the parties involved—"

"I wish to object." Hans had barely been able to force his teeth to unclench. "Until today, I had no idea of this contract's existence."

His father had looked him in the eye and _laughed. _

"So that's your defence, is it now? You _didn't know_? I bet you didn't know you were going to murder Princess Elsa either?"

"You're lying, Father." Hans had wondered why his voice sounded so calm. "Look the king and queen in the eye and tell them that you're lying. Tell them who forged those contracts for you. Tell them how you tortured an innocent man into madness. Tell them how you sent me here to seduce Princess Elsa, to _leave a little something growing in her belly_ as though we're nothing more than dogs in heat, tell them—"

His father had slapped him.

"You swine! You lying swine! I should've pulled out of your whore of your mother when I had the chance!"

Hans had wanted to scatter his father, the king and queen of Arendelle, and all the guards as though they were nothing but a pack of cards. He had wanted to scream with laughter and claw the soft wobbling flesh of his father's throat into bloody strips. But the shackles had been so cold and heavy around his wrists...

Only when the king and queen had allowed his father to escort him to the dungeons had he finally forced himself to ask "Why are you doing this?"

His father had paused with his hand on the door, looking Hans in the eye for the first time that day.

"One day, you'll grow old and rich and fat. You'll learn the trick to sending a thousand men to their deaths in the morning and sleeping like a baby all through the night. You'll go through so many queens and whores, you won't be able to tell the difference anymore. You'll watch them pop out more children than you ever wanted and bring them to you like they're doing you a favour. And then you'll understand that life really isn't as precious as you once thought. Not your own. Not your thirteenth son's."

The door clanged shut, and Hans found himself in darkness.

* * *

"Your Highness." The guardsman's voice echoed through the throne chamber. "Queen Elsa of Living Snows and Burning Skies."

The snowmen fighting on the ice-slicked floor stopped and turned their heads stupidly towards him.

"Small man in the way!" the enormous one crouching by the throne roared. "Small man leave now!"

Enveloped by the gargantuan ice throne she had built in a fit of boredom, Elsa rose to her feet. The guardsman had put her in a good mood by using her favourite title. Even though she might never see Arendelle, she supposed she still had to be Queen of something.

"Relax, Olaf," she said, patting the snowman's huge head. "He wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't urgent." She waved her hands and a glittering cage trapped each of the fighting snowmen, causing them to growl in indignation. "Tell me, Guardsman, why have you come to me at this hour?"

She never bothered learning their names. Her father would not have approved – but he never came to see her anymore.

"Your Highness." He started across the throne room floor, slipped, fell against a cage containing an exceptionally large snowman, sprang back in terror, and somehow managed to regain his balance. "There is... a visitor for you outside."

"A visitor, eh? What is he, a spy? An assassin? I could really do with a spy or an assassin right now. I'm getting so awfully bored..."

"No, Your Highness. He came here alone and demanded to see you. He bears the banner of the Southern Isles. We tried to convince him you weren't here, but he wouldn't be convinced..."

"Bring him in," said Elsa, without really understanding why.

* * *

In his cell under Castle Arendelle, Hans sat on his bunk and thought.

When he could think no more, he got up and walked, measuring out mile after mile by the cold stone walls.

When he could walk no more, he lay down and slept.

And when he could sleep no more, he punched the walls until his knuckles were too slick with blood to continue.

How stupid; how naive he had been! A child who fancies himself a man when given a wooden sword with a blunted edge! How could he not have seen that his father would predict every last thing he would do? Loving plots and intrigues, but not being able to see beyond your own childish pride?

_The first pawn moved in a game of chess is never the one destined to become a queen_, he thought bitterly. _The first pawn is nothing but a sacrifice. A lamb whose blood is spilled to mark the path of greater pieces._

But who _were _the greater pieces?

What game was the Mad King of the Isles playing?

The guards did not mistreat him. They brought him his meals – which were decent, he supposed, by prison standards – twice a day, and when he asked for a pen and paper or water to wash his face, they never refused.

But, just like the king, they would not let him see Elsa.

Hans knew that he could not let himself stagnate. Pressing on the rough floor, feeling almost horrified at how malformed his handwriting looked, he wrote Elsa a letter. He explained how his father had framed him. He reminded her of the dinner in the rose garden and the ride through the mountains and how the wind had whistled through the birches when he told her that he loved her. He even managed to make an envelope and seal it with a few drops of dirty white candlewax.

He gave it to the guard who came with his breakfast. The man nodded and marched out of the cell, locking the door behind him. Only then did he dare to raise the letter to the bars, take a box of matches out of his pocket, and set it alight. His eyes were cold, almost sorrowful, but he knew that Hans could only watch, and that knowledge pleased him.

_Don't cry, _Hans told himself as he watched his hope flare up in orange tongues and flutter in grey ashes to the ground. _If you cry, I'll scratch your goddamn eyes out._

"Let me see Princess Elsa," he told the guard who brought him another meal (he could no longer tell which one it was). It had become a mantra to him; a prayer repeated by a dying man even when he no longer understands his own words. "You can't hide her from this world. She will be Queen someday. She needs to learn to handle cases like this by herself."

"It is not the world we wish to hide her from," said the guard. "It is men like you."

_God, how they love their little girl..._

The next time his cell door opened, the man who entered was not a guard.

"Peter," he said, not sure if he was dreaming and not quite caring. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Hans. I wish I could ask you the same thing."

Peter was the seventh son. He was not very much older than Hans, and he was the only brother whom Hans had ever considered to be a friend. He had been born into a position where he knew that some had it worse than him and some had it better, and that had almost, but not quite, made him kind.

"Well, Pete, unfortunately I can't offer you a chair, but do sit down on the bed. So tell me, why are you here? Did the whole family come out to watch little Hans and his circus?"

"No, it's only me and Alfonse. I know you and him never got along, but rest assured, he won't be coming to see you.

Hans laughed bitterly. "Of course Alfonse came. He wouldn't miss a chance to see my face get rubbed in the dirt for all the world. But you, Peter? I'm disappointed in you."

Peter did not smile as he sat down beside Hans, dusting the filthy sheets with a look of disgust.

"Actually, Father didn't want me coming down here either. I came to help you."

"Help me? If you really want to do that, just open that door and let me walk out. Otherwise you're wasting your time."

Peter sighed. "I'm afraid I can't do that. But what I can do, is offer you a few words of comfort. In two days' time, you will have your trial. The royals of Arendelle and Weselton will be there—"

"Wait. You mean to say that Rosalind will be there?"

"Yes, she will be, but—"

"Damn it!" Hans groaned. "And what will I do then? I do feel sorry for the girl, I really do, but—"

"Hans, _listen to me_! I don't have much time. The point is, you _won't_ have to do anything. You will most likely be found innocent. And even if they do find you guilty, I promise you that by the time that trial is over, you will be a free man. And after that, you will live like a king for your troubles."

"Live like a king? I'm sorry, but I just can't see Father even considering that."

"Of course I can't make you believe me, Hans. I wish I could just tell you exactly why you're imprisoned here. I wish I could tell you what will happen at that trial. But I just can't. Too much hangs on all this. One day, you will believe me when I tell you that this is the beginning of the biggest event you or I will likely ever see in our lifetimes..."

"Oh, so you say I'm making a noble sacrifice for a cause I don't even know about?" It hurt unbearably to clench his fists, but Hans did it anyway. "Damn you, Peter, for once in my life, I actually had something! Is that really so much to ask? Does it really make Father feel that good when he takes it all away? And you, you're just as bad as him. I bet he sent you here. Or was it Alfonse? I know how much they love to see me squirm. So here's my challenge to you: stop speaking in riddles, and tell me exactly why all of this is happening. I'm a big boy. Heaven knows I can handle another boot in the face better than you or Alfonse or Father."

Peter's voice sounded genuinely sad, but his eyes were as cold and distant as Elsa's had been on that first day. "I'm sorry, Hans. But that really is all I can tell you. Just hold out for two more days. You will be rewarded, I swear."

"Well, I see how it is then." It was odd, what effect pure rage had on the mind. Hans felt like a blade tempered by fire. "Solve the puzzle and win the right to be part of this goddamn family. I'm sorry, Peter, but I'm not going to play like that anymore. If you have nothing more to tell me, get out. And if you don't, I'll make you wish that you had."

As he looked at the door and then at Hans' fists, crusted with dried blood, Peter seemed to deflate. He suddenly looked even younger than Hans – a lost boy who had come to offer another lost boy too little, too late.

"Hans... I'm your brother, I don't mean you any harm..."

Hans threw his head back and laughed.

"_Brother_? I'm sorry, Peter. But I'm sure you'll understand when I say that that word doesn't mean anything to me anymore."

The man Hans had once loved turned away, and left him alone with the silence.

* * *

Elsa could barely resist climbing onto Olaf's shoulders to get a better look at the man walking towards her throne.

The icy floor of the cave was treacherous. The snowmen sniffed and roared from inside their cages, dislodging the icicles that always grew on the ceiling. Two guards marched on either side of him, their halberds aimed at his throat. And yet he strode on, never turning his gaze away from her.

He was tall and sinewy, not old but not young either. He moved with graceful deliberation even when trying to find his footing, and the lines of his face and his brown hair were pure order. He must have been handsome in his youth, and he still would have been, if not for the furrows in his brow and the creases under his eyes brought on by the constant need to command. In his hand he held a golden flag with two blue lions locked in combat – the emblem of the Southern Isles, Elsa remembered from somewhere.

"I must say, stranger, I admire your courage." Elsa liked how her voice echoed through the chamber, making the icicles clink together and the snowmen growl and shake their bars. "Those who came before you thought they could take me by surprise. I would suggest that you ask them if I was merciful, but I'm afraid they're in no condition to answer."

Meanwhile, the stranger had crossed the floor and begun his ascent of the ice steps leading to Elsa's throne. He had a stately gait, just like a king's; just like her father's. Perhaps her father would have liked him – in fact, she could already picture the two of them sitting in the King's study, drinking dark wine and pushing tiny wooden armies this way and that as they made terrible world-weighted decisions. And yet, as he mounted the platform on which her throne stood, she could almost feel him trembling with fear. It was strange, Elsa thought, to see a man so like her father so afraid of her. The people of Weselton; their king in his smashed golden carriage; the guards she had executed and the spies she had tortured to death had also been afraid. But this one's fear was different...

"Princess Elsa of Arendelle." Blue and white reflections glimmered in his eyes. "I am Prince Albrecht, heir to the kingdom of the Southern Isles. I have searched for seven years, and now I have found you. God have mercy, I have found you..."

Olaf growled and cracked his knuckles. Elsa felt herself shrinking back into the throne, and for just one moment, she forgot to be the Queen.

"_Why_? Answer me, or I'll release my children!"

"To give you this," said the stranger, and laid the blue and gold flag at her feet.

* * *

**A/N: So sorry about the long delay! Work got pretty hectic, and after that, I was having lots of problems with the site. I promise not to stop writing until I finish the story. And you know, it's pretty close to the end already...**

**Next chapter will have a lot of Elsa to make up for the delay. **


	11. Nets

**It's been such a long time... I'm so sorry I had to keep everyone waiting. I ended up writing the chapter and then saving over it and having to write it all over again. The world just doesn't want me to finish this story, does it?!**

* * *

Elsa's father had reminded her far too many times of how catastrophic it would be to light a fire inside the cave. She never needed one anyway – the kitchens were located in a sort of lean-to which sprawled against the mountain side, while the guards and servants had a scattering of wooden cabins where they sat around roaring fires every night and allowed themselves to forget their mistress in her icy loneliness.

It was in one of these cabins that she met with Prince Albrecht.

Elsa had sent the maids scurrying to shovel snow and transfer some of her lighter furniture to the most presentable cabin, while a guard led the grey horse on which Albrecht had arrived to the stables. Albrecht himself accompanied Elsa to the cabin, carrying some kind of dome-shaped object covered by a dark cloth in his arms, refusing any servants who offered to take it from him.

By the time Elsa and her guest reached the cabin, the centre table was already decked with crystal jugs of hot glogg and platters of cheese and biscuits. Albrecht settled into one of Elsa's fine chairs and placed the strange object on the floor, pulling off the cloth with a flourish. It was a cage, Elsa saw. In it, cold and regal, sat a white bird with a hawk's curved bill and black flecks dappling its wings like the ashes of an old fire in the snow. Albrecht thanked her for the warmth, but she could see that he was confused and unnerved.

_It must be strange for him_, thought Elsa, staring into his bird's empty black eyes. _He'll be king someday, but right now he has to sit with the servants because the palace might kill him. _The thought filled her with a hollow amusement, until she remembered that when he visited her, her father stayed with the servants too.

_God, when did everyone become so pathetic...?_

"How _did _you find me," was all she said. "How did you even know to look?"

"Your father is a clever man, Your Highness." Albrecht poured two glasses of glogg and sat back in his chair. "But my father commands one of the biggest spy networks in the world. My father split it in half between Arendelle and Weselton when the war began, but it is under my orders that the spies in Arendelle remain there still. Even the cleverest man has correspondence that can be tracked or servants that can be bought. Even the cleverest man cannot cover every track he makes in the snow. And even the most perfect decoy can never quite be perfect."

"Decoy? What decoy?" Elsa was getting the uncomfortable feeling that this stranger knew more about her father than she did.

Albrecht sighed and put his glass down.

"I should have known that you were not told, Your Highness. Your father plans to turn you into the world's most powerful weapon, for himself alone to use. And yet he fears you. He cannot bear to have you near him, while his people shout for the princess who saved them from Weselton's armies. So he... found himself a less dangerous princess. A pretty lowborn girl, who sits on your throne, speaks your words, and bleaches her hair. I could not learn what her name is, or where he got her. All I know is that her hair is really mouse-brown, and that she sometimes stutters on big words."

Elsa sat and took all this in.

The cracker she had been spreading creamy cheese on crumbled in her grip, showering her plate with crumbs.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"With respect, Your Highness, what father shuts his only daughter away in the dark? What father visits her once a year, with diamonds and silk and ermine no less? Bribes for his own daughter; indulgences for an angry god! Forgive me, Your Highness, but it is pathetic."

"My father is not pathetic," Elsa was forced to say. "He is a brave and wise man, who only wants to protect me."

Albrecht gave another of his sorrowful sighs and pushed his glass away across the table. Elsa noticed that he had not touched the cheese.

"Your Highness, may I ask you a frank question?"

"You've been frank enough already. Get it over with."

"When you attacked Weselton... Why did you do it? It was a noble act, worthy of a great queen, to do such a thing for your people. A dog that becomes rabid needs to be put down, no matter the cost. But you were only a child then, were you not? If I may ask, what drives a child to do such a thing?"

"My sister." Elsa did not even hesitate. "My seven-year-old sister Anna, whom they butchered like an animal. I would do it all over again for her. I would kill a hundred thousand more men to avenge her."

"So I thought." Could it really be anger that made Albrecht's voice tremble like that? "Your Highness, I came here with a gift. I will not lie, it is a terrible gift to give a princess. But if no-one else will let you see your father's true face, then I will."

He took a small black box out of his pocket, and gave it to her with his head bowed.

When she saw what was in it, she wanted to scream and throw it across the room. She wanted to strangle Albrecht with her bare hands. But she was a Queen now, not even a Crown Princess. She was a Queen...

Inside the box was the foot of a carrier pigeon. It lay, tensed and shrivelled in death, on the velvet lining of the box, the wound where it had been torn from its owner's body cloaked by sad grey feathers. But Elsa was not looking at the foot. Her heart went cold, so terribly cold, as she read the familiar letters on the note still wound around it.

_Tonight, when you see snow on the watchtower, Anna is yours._

_ -F_

There were tears in her eyes after all, even though Queens did not cry. And Albrecht, that poor chivalrous idiot, was saying something so stupid and shallow and _human_ again.

"My gyrfalcon here, her name is Mercy... had her since she was a chick, taught her to hunt...pigeons, like your father uses to deliver messages...small grey pigeons..."

_I'm not staying here without Elsa! _Anna had been screaming the last time Elsa saw her; she had been clinging to their father, the King of Arendelle, wise and gentle King Frank, and he had torn the little girl away and pushed her through the dark open doors and someone's hands had grabbed her and she had screamed, and Elsa had remembered those as her mother's hands, but it had been so many years ago, and _what if_...

...and then Albrecht was gasping for breath, his pupils tiny black points in his white face, his arms pinned to his sides by a volley of ice spears which danced over his throat and heart, and Elsa wondered dimly how it was that she had not killed him. He was brave, he did not even cry out; Princes did not scream, neither did Queens, neither did...

"_Why?!_" Elsa barely heard her own voice; all she knew was that familiar feeling of the world hurtling away and the black empty space rearing to swallow her up. "Why would he do it? He loved her...she was his little girl, he'd make me sit in the corner if I ever hurt her, even if it was by mistake...he'd put his crown on her head and carry her around the castle on his shoulders, he _loved _her... _Why would he do it?! _Answer me; answer me if that's what you came here for, or I'll...God knows I'll..."

"Your Highness." Albrecht was calm; why was he so calm when other men had screamed before her ice even touched them? "Your father was a great man. Yet war is a terrible thing, and the greater a man is, the more there is for war to break. A king wants to protect his people and his family and his power, but war forces him to choose. King Frank of Arendelle saw his eldest daughter, who had so much power and who loved her sister more than he could comprehend. He saw the blood of his people flowing through the streets as they dutifully fought a war they could not win. Perhaps most of all, he saw a piece of his pride dying with every soldier. King Frank of Arendelle had to choose between a daughter and the most powerful weapon in the world... and so King Frank chose."

"And _you_! He asked your father, he _begged _him for his aid…You knew, didn't you, that your armies could have defeated Weselton! But no, the Southern Isles chose to stay out of the war; to watch as we _died_…"

"Please, Your Highness, you must understand. My father is an old man with thirteen of us. He has not had a wife for many years now. The youngest was eight years old when the war started, but most of us were just the right age to lead his armies and die alongside his men. He stayed out of the war to protect us… but now, Your Highness, every one of us is ready to atone for it."

"And how will you atone for it?" There were tears in her eyes, despite all she had promised herself. "Tell me, _how_?"

"Do you remember the King of Weselton, Your Highness? It was merciful of you to spare him... but mercy is not always deserved, is it? In two days' time, there will be a trial at Castle Arendelle. A petty little case, unworthy of you – but your father will be there, along with Weselton and his queen and all his dear children. And I can make sure that you will be there too." Albrecht's lips curled like a wolf's, and he _laughed_. "As judge, Your Highness, and as executioner."

The ice spears tinkled harmlessly to the floor.

Elsa did not want to think. She stared with doll eyes at Albrecht, knowing now that in this mad broken world, not to think was survival.

"Name your price," she said.

Leaning back in his chair and gasping with relief, sweat beading on his forehead, Albrecht no longer looked quite so brave. With the stimulus of danger gone, it was as though he had no idea where to begin.

"Your Highness. It is... a great thing that I must ask of you in return. I understand that you will have doubts. But in the end, I am sure that I can convince you to give it willingly—"

"Your price," Elsa demanded.

"Your hand in marriage."

Elsa burst out laughing.

She felt as though she could scream with laughter forever, there with that man who called himself a prince. _What a joke_, she thought as her hands worked themselves into the intricate shapes of a killing blow, _what a huge goddamn joke..._

"Your Highness! _Wait!_"

She waited, purely to hear how that poor fool would justify himself. Beyond his death, the loneliness of seven years waited. It would always be there, it could wait just a moment longer...

"Your Highness, I understand your misgivings!" He was definitely afraid now. "You are young and beautiful and powerful, but I... well, I won't be for much longer. If you wish, our marriage can exist only on paper. You will have every freedom you could want. If you never want me to touch you, or if you wish to bring younger men into your bed, then so be it. You will have the throne of the Southern Isles, you will have an army, and as for me, is it really so strange for a man to want to gaze upon a goddess come down to earth? Think of all we can do together. Every king and queen in the world will bend their knee to us. Arendelle and Weselton? Petty triumphs compared to what is to come! Consider them wedding gifts, Snow Queen Elsa."

Elsa let her hands fall to her sides.

"Very well then. But there is one more gift that I want."

"Anything, Queen Elsa."

"I want to be the one to kill my father.

* * *

Queen Solveig of Arendelle was well and truly sick of Southerners.

The fat old king disgusted her. He had already been king back when she was a little girl, and she and her friends had called him "King Walrus". With each passing year, he seemed to become more walrus and less king.

His brood of sons disgusted her, partly out of pity for all the women who had borne them, partly because he seemed to have whipped all decency out of them at an early age. There was the eldest, who came to Arendelle more often than she liked and haggled like an old woman. There was that vicious third one, the spymaster, whose cruelty towards his subjects was the stuff of legend. There was that young fool who had stolen a ship and killed her daughter's love. And there Pjotr or Peter or whatever his name was, the young man who had asked to speak with her in private and now seemed to be doing his best to get on her nerves.

"...I wish to say once again, Your Majesty," he was saying as they walked through the gardens, "how sorry we all are about the dismal behaviour of my brother towards your youngest daughter..."

Queen Solveig took a deep breath. "You have nothing to apologise for. The matter is being handled very professionally by the High Court-"

And then she realised what he had said.

"Elsa is my eldest daughter," she heard herself say. "My youngest, Anna, died seven years ago..."

"It makes me sad, Your Majesty," he continued. "It is not good for such a young girl to carry an entire kingdom on her shoulders. Princess Elsa was more suited to power, was she not? If only she could lighten the load..."

Queen Solveig stopped in her tracks.

"I do not understand what you are talking about." Her voice seemed to come from far, far away. "If this is your idea of a joke, then I must ask you to leave..."

"Your Majesty, we know about your daughters."

Time stood still.

A Queen did not walk into a trap like that. A Queen fought her way out so softly that the trapper remained none the wiser. A Queen...

_I was a Queen, until I let them chain my heir in the dark._

"How long have you known?" she whispered.

"It does not matter, Your Majesty. I am not your enemy. I have only admiration for you. Admiration... and pity."

A Queen would never allow some foreign princeling to speak to her like that. A Queen would have him tried for treason, executed, assassinated, anything to shut his mouth...

_Just take her, _she had said seven years ago. _Take her far, far away from me..._

And Queen Solveig of Arendelle broke down.

"I sent her away," she sobbed. "My little girl, my beautiful daughter... I couldn't bear to look at her, after what my husband made her do. So I told him to take her away, and I killed her sister with dye and powder. And now she could be dead for all I know; she could be dead because I decided to be a coward..."

Peter put his hand on her shoulder.

"You were not a coward, Your Majesty. You were a mother who did what she had to to protect her children. But it does not have to be like this. By the time this week is over, I can have both your daughters back in your arms."

"_How?_ Even if you know where she is, what power do you have?"

"The power of a pen and a grey pigeon. I will bring your daughters back, Your Majesty. You must trust me."

Queen Solveig nodded. What else was there to do?

"There is only one little thing that I must ask you to do. It will take nothing away from you." He handed her a bottle of dark glass, and she took it and grasped it like a lifeline. "On the morning before the trial, you must give your youngest daughter this. And then everything will be complete."

When she saw what was in the bottle, she almost laughed.

* * *

In the servants' cabin that had been allocated to him, Prince Albrecht was writing by candlelight.

His gyrfalcon watched, the flame flickering deep inside her empty black eyes, as he finished his message and slid it into the leather pouch on her left leg.

_She will come. But the sister must die, and stay dead this time. Tell the assassin._

_ - A_

He picked her up off her perch and carried her outside, her talons ice against his arm. "Fly, Mercy," he whispered, and she took off into the dark sky, a shadow in a land of shadows, carrying death on her wings.

She was gone by the time he remembered that he had written the note in the handwriting of the father of his bride. _Old habits die hard, _he thought as he shrugged and went back inside.

Soon it would no longer matter.


End file.
